UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


if,.  -— 


UNHTERSITY  of  CALIFORIflA 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 

UBRARY 


DIARY    OF    AN    ENNUYEE. 


T*'    - 


8  4  20     2 


:"T4TP 


THE 


DIARY  OF  AN  ENNUYEE. 


/y/y 


MRS.    JAMESON. 


"Sad,  solemn,  soure,  and  full  of  fancies  fraile, 
She  woxe  ;  yet  wist  she  neither  how  nor  why ; 
She  wist  not,  silly  Mayde,  what  she  did  aiie. 
Yet  wist  she  was  not  well  at  ease  perdie  ; 

Yet  thought  it  was  not  Love,  but  some  Melancholic." 

SPENSER. 


FROM    THE    LAST    LONDON    EDITION. 


BOS  TO  N: 
JAMES    R.   OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknor  &  Fields,  and  Fields,  Osgood,  &  Co. 

1875.  . 


\  A-  \  -V 


\  \ 


^-14G 


ID 
J   ^3? 


PREFACE. 

u  ■W'lTii  regard  to  a  certain  little  Diary,  of  which 
it  has  been  thought  proper  to  give  here  a  new  edi- 
tion,— what  shall  I  say  ?  If  I  have  cheated  some 
gentle  readers  out  of  much  superfluous  sympathy — 
as  it  has  been  averred — it  was  certainly  without 
design.  1  can  but  repeat  here  the  excuse  already 
inserted  in  another  place, '  that  the  work  in  question 
was  not  written  for  publication,  nor  would  ever  have 
been  printed  but  for  accidental  circumstances ;  that 
the  title  under  which  it  appeared  was  not  given  by 
the  writer,  but  the  publisher,  who  at  the  time  knew 
nothing  of  the  real  author:  and  that  some  false 
dates,  unimportant  circumstances,  and  fictitious 
characters,  were  afterwards  interpolated,  to  con- 
ceal, if  possible,  the  real  purport  and  origin  of  the 
work ;  for  the  intention  was  not  to  create  an  illu- 
sion, by  giving  to  fiction  the  appearance  of  truth 
but,  in  fact,  to  conceal  truth  by  throwing  over  it  the 
veil  of  fiction.'     I  regret,  that  even  this  deception 


VI  PREFACE. 

vras  prat;tised,  but  would  plead  in  excuse  that  the 
basis  of  that  little  book  was  truth ;  that  it  was,  in 
reality,  what  it  assumed  to  be,  'a  true  picture  of 
natural  and  feminine  feeling.'  I  confess,  that  to  go 
over  the  pages  again  for  the  purpose  of  correction, 
and  for  the  first  time,  since  their  publication, 
has  been  rather  a  painful  task  :  once  or  twice  I 
have  felt  inclined  to  make  the  amende  honorable. 
They  contain  some  opinions  which  I  have  seen  rea- 
son to  alter  or  modify ;  they  record  some  feelings 
■which  I  would  rather  have  forgotten ;  and  Italy  has 
since  undergone  some  social  and  political  changes  : 
but  the  observations  on  art  and  natural  scenery  re- 
main as  applicable  now  as  they  were  ten  years  ago ; 
and  I  found  I  could  make  no  alterations,  no  correc- 
tions, which  would  not  detract  from  the  sole  merit 
the  book  could  ever  have  possessed,  and  which,  I 
presume,  it  still  retains, — its  truth  as  a  picture  of 

mind." 

A.  J. 

[Fit)m  "  Visits  and  Sketches,  at  Home  and  Abroad."] 


CONTENTS. 

Calais;  Biddy  Fudge;  Necessity  of  writing  a  Diary;  Diary 
of  a  Blue  Devil;  Roueu;  Joan  of  Arc;  Paris;  Comic 
Scenes  in  the  Champs  Elis<?es;  Anecdote;  Edmonde; 
Story  of  Genevieve;  Ilhiess  of  the  Writer;  Le  Solitaire; 
Paris  from  the  Pont  des  Arts ;  Contrast  of  English  and 
French  Maimers;  Remarks  on  Paris Page  17 — 30 

First  Impression  of  Mountain  Scenery;  the  Jui-a;  the 
Italian  Alps;  Geneva;  Anecdotes  of  Josephine  and  of 
Marie  Louise;  Mad.  de  Stael  and  M.  Rocca;  Panorama 
of  Lausanne;  Departure  from  Geneva;  La  Meillerie 
Vevai;  Scenery  between  Geneva  and  the  SLmplon; 
Village  of  Davedro;  Sorrowful  Reflections;  Anecdote 
of  Rousseau  and  the  Heloise;  Milan;  Shrine  of  St. 
Carlo  Borromeo;  Scenes  and  Anecdotes;  Venus  and 
Hercules  transformed  into  Saints;  the  Brera;  Marriage 
of  the  Virgin ;  Remarks  on  the  Hagar 30 — 16 

Opera  and  Madame  Bellocchi;  Vigano  the  celebrated 
Ballet  Master;  his  Dldone  Abhandonala;  Exceptionable 
Scene  introduced;  its  Etlects;  Vigano's  Prometteo; 
Medal  stioick  in  his  Honor;  Remarks  on  Dancing;  on 
the  Scala  Theatre;  Anecdotes  of  Count  Bubna;  the 
Archduke  Reignier;  the  Mint;  Medal  presented  to 
Belzoni;    Milanese  Airs;   Stanzas  for  Music;   Brescia 


VUl  CONTENTS. 

and  Mr.  L. ;  a  Compound  Goose ;  6  Specimen  of  a  Now 
Genius  of  Fools;  Sirmioue  and  Catullus;  Adelaide  of 
Burgundy 46 — 58 

Verona;  Fimeral  of  a  Noble;  the  Amphitheatre;  Romeo 
and  Juliet;  Novel  of  Louis  Da  Porta;  Palladio;  hia 
Olympic  Theatre;  Padua;  Venice  at  Sunset;  Venice 
at  Night;  Assumption  of  Titian ;  Canova's  Designs  for 
the  Monument  of  Titian;  the  Ganymede  of  Praxiteles; 
Splendor  of  the  Churches  at  Venice;  the  Manfrini 
Palace ;  Picture  alluded  to  by  Lord  Byron ;  the  Bar- 
berigo  Palace;  Titian's  last  Picture;  Excursion  to  the 
Island  of  St.  Lazaro  with  the  British  Consul;  the 
Padre  Pasquale;  Theatres;  Characteristic  Anecdote; 
Comical  Tragedy;  Mrs.  H.,  wife  of  the  British  Consul; 
Lord  Byron;  Characteristic  Marginal  Notes,  written 
by  Lord  Byron  in  D'Israeli's  Essays  on  the  Literary 
Character ■. 58—72 

Public  Gardens  at  Venice;  an  Eccentric  Traveller;  Re- 
marks on  Venice  as  a  Residence;  Rise  and  Decline  of 
its  Commerce;  Society;  Jealousy  of  the  Austrian 
Police;  Silk  Mills;  Disagreeable  and  painful  Impres- 
sions of  Bologna;  Tasso  and  the  Hospital  of  St.  Anna, 
at  Ferrara;  Present  State  of  that  City;  Covigliajo  in 
the  Apennuies;  Contrast  between  the  Scenery  of  the 
Alps  and  the  Apennines;  Hon-ible  Assassinations  at  the 
Inn  of  Covigliajo;  Fate  of  the  Murderers;  Scene  in  an 
Italian  Iim , 72—83 

Florence ;  Influence  of  the  Scenery ;  Gallery ;  Venus  de' 
Medicis;  the  Casina;  Moonlight  at  Florence;  theNiobe; 
Mr.  Cockerell;  the  Dying  Alexander;  the  Jlercury  of 
John  of  Bologna ;  Melancholy  Thoughts ;  Samuel  Rogers 
and  the  Venus  de'  Medicis;  Carlo  Dolce's  La  Poesia, 


CONTENTS.  IX 

painted  from  one  of  his  Daughters:  Effect  of  Sorrow  on 
the  Heart  and  Mind;  llouniful  Reflections;  Description 
of  the  Grand  Duke  and  his  Family;  the  Prince  of 
Carignano;  Love;  Music;  and  Devotion;  Magnelli  the 
Singer 84—96 

Church  of  San  Lorenzo;  Michel  Augelo;  his  severe  and 
overpowering  Style;  his  Holy  Family  contrasted  with 
those  of  Raffaelle  and  Correggio;  his  Virgin,  a  Washei- 
wonian;  Chapel  of  the  Medici;  Tomb  of  Lorenzo; 
Pictures  of  Laura  and  Petrarch;  Galileo's  Finger; 
Pietra  Dura;  Palazzo  ilozzi;  Benvenuto's  Picture  of 
the  Night  after  the  Battle  of  Jena;  School  of  the  Fine 
Arts;  Remarks  on  the  Present  Taste  in  Sculpture  and 
Painting  in  Italy;  Gallery;  Salle  des  Portraits;  Dutch 
and  Flemish  I'ictures;  the  Daughter  of  Herodias;  the 
ghastly  Jledusa  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci ;  Contrast  between 
the  ^listress  of  Raffaelle  and  the  Mistress  of  Titian, 
the  Farnarina;  the  Flora;  Titian's  Venus;  Pitti  Pal- 
ace  96—103 

Gardens  of  the  Villa  Strozzi;  Opera  at  the  Cocomero; 
Raphael  Morghen;  Florence  from  the  Campanile;  Co- 
rinne  a  fashionable  Vade  ;\Iecum;  a  Scene  in  the  Church 
of  the  San  Spirito;  the  Virgin  in  a  Blue  Silk  Gown;  an 
Ave  Maria  in  Italian;  an  Evening  in  the  Church  of 
Santa  Croce;  Extraordinary  Picture  by  Cigoli;  two 
Characters  contrasted;  Anecdote;  Fam  us  Blunder  of 

Lord  G ;  Countess  of  Albany ;  Alfieri;  Remarks  on 

his  Tragedies;  Tragedy  of  Mirra,  a  Ftivourite  on  the 
Stage;  would  not  be  endured  in  England;  the  Venus  of 
Canova  compared  to  the  Venus  de'  Jledicis;  the  Grand 
Duke's  Madonna;  Remarks  on  Florence;  Costume  of 
the  People;  Classical  Style  of  Swearing;  a  Shoemaker's 
Oath 104— 11« 


S  CONTENTS 

Journey  to  Rome;  Arezzo;  Perugia;  Lake  of  Thrasy- 
mene;  Singular  Effect  of  Mist;  Ridiculous  Contretemps; 
Trevi;  the  Clitumnus;  Spoleto;  a  Bull-Baiting;  Falls 
of  Temi;  Impossibility  of  painting  a  Cataract;  Villa 
of  Queen  Caroline;  Costume  of  the  Peasantry;  Rome; 
Melancholy  Impressions  of  the  first  Day  at  Rome; 
St.  Peter's;  Museum  of  the  Vatican;  its  Grandeur  and 
intoxicating  Effect  on  the  Imagination;  Sacrilegious 
Vanity  of  the  French;  Frescos  of  Raffaelle;  the  Col- 
iseum by  Moonlight;  Remark  made  on  the  Laocoon  by 
Rogers;  the  Perseus  of  Canova,  compared  to  the 
Apollo;  View  from  the  Belvedere IIC — 134 

The  Capitol;  the  Dying  Gladiator,  supposed  to  represent 
a  Gaul;  the  Disputes  of  the  Antiquarians  on  this 
Statue;  Opinion  of  Nibby;  Paul  Veronese;  Strictures 
on  his  Style;  Domenichino's  Cumean  Sibyl;  Remarks 
on  Guido;  on  Guercino;  the  Sibyl  of  the  Borghese 
Palace,  not  a  Sibyl;  the  Chase  of  Diana;  Sacred  and 
Profane  Love;  the  Lope's  Chapel;  Cardinal  Fesche; 
Cardinal  Gonsalvi;  Lady  Moi'gan;  her  Sketches  after 
Life  admirable;  her  "Italy;"  the  Barberini  Palace; 
Story  of  the  Cenci;  her  Portrait;  Family  Resemblance; 
Indecent  Beluiviour  of  the  English  at  St.  Peter's;  Con- 
sequences; the  Duchess  of  Devonshire 134 — 142 

The  Festivities  and  Processions  on  Christmas  Eve;  Ex- 
hibition of  the  Divine  Cradle  at  Santa  Maria  Maggiore; 
Scene  in  the  Church;  Characteristic  Absurdities;  the 
Doria  Palace;  Bad  Condition  of  the  Pictures  in  the 
Doria  Gallery;  Joanna  of  Naples;  the  Nozze  Aldo- 
brandini;  the  Gallery  at  the  Sciarra  Palace;  Guide's 
Magdalen;  Remarks  on  various  Pictures;  Scarcity  of 
Claude's  Works  at  Rome;  the  Church  of  San  Pietro  in 
Vmcoli;    Michel  Angelo's  Moses;    Remarks  on  that 


CONTENTS.  X) 

Statue ;  the  Poet  Zappi ;  his  Wife  the  Daughter  of  Carlo 
Maratti;  her  Beauty  and  Talents;  a  Sonnet  by  Zappi, 
and  Translation 143 — 150 

Extraordinary  Scene  at  the  Ara  Celi;  Exposition  of  the 
Bambino;  Trajan's  Foiiim;  the  Ulpiau  Library;  Re- 
flections suggested  by  the  Conimencemeut  of  the  New 
Year;  Remarks  on  the  Protestant  Cemetery;  Beauty 
and  Interest  of  its  Situation;  Description  of  some  of 
the  Tombs;  the  Quarter  of  the  Jews;  the  Lateran;  au 
Account  of  some  of  the  extraordinary  Relics  exhibited 
in  this  Church;  Remarks  on  the  Era  of  Constantiue 
and  his  Character;  the  Scala  Santa;  the  Houses  of 
Claude  Lorraine,  Xicolo  Poussin,  and  Salvator  Rosa,  on 
the  Monte  della  Trinita;  English  Chapel;  St.  Peter's; 
L.'s  Absurdities;  Reply  to  a  Complaint;  Reply  to  a 
Reproach 150 — 162 

English  Weather  at  Rome;  Anecdotes  of  a  Roman  Laquais 
de  Place;  Madame  de  Genlis's  "  Souvenirs  de  Felicie;" 
Baths  of  Titus;  Arabesque  Paintings;  Discovery  of 
the  Laocoou;  the  Fetters  of  St.  Peter;  the  Cluxrch  of 
San  Jlartino  del  Monte;  Body  of  Cai'dinal  Tomasi  in  a 
glass  Case ;  the  Vatican ;  Remarks  on  the  Transfigura- 
tion of  RafFJieUe,  and  the  Communion  of  St.  Jerome  of 
Domenichino;  these  two  Master-pieces  compared;  curi- 
ous Anecdote  relative  to  the  latter 162 — 169 

Ascent  to  the  Ball  of  St.  Peter's;  Church  of  St.  Onofrio; 
Tomb  of  Tasso;  the  Poet  Guidi;  Excursion  through 
the  most  interesting  Part  of  Old  Rome;  Reflections  on 
the  Mystery  in  which  the  whole  is  involved;  Charac- 
teristic Scenes;  a  Serenade;  a  young  Artist  in  the 
Coliseum;  Passage  m  which  Commodus  was  assas- 
sinated; Dedication  of  the  Amphitheatre;  the  Tomb 


XU  CONTENTS. 

of  Cecilia  Metella;  Remarks  on  the  Fountain  of  Egeria 
Disputes  of  the  Antiquarians;  the  Tomb  of  the  Scipios; 
Characteristic  Anecdote;  Splendid  Ceremony  at  St. 
Peter's;  Person  and  Character  of  Pope  Pius  VII.; 
Manufactory  of  Roman  Pearl;  a  second  Excursiou 
through  Ancient  Rome,  with  Remarks;  Gigantic  Meas- 
urements of  the  Temple  of  Venus  and  Rome.  Via 
Sacra 169—186 

Signer  P and  his  Daughter;  Anecdote,  Trait  of  Char- 
acter related  of  a  Danish  Baron;  the  Spada  Pompey; 
Cauova's  Studio;  Remarks  on  his  Style;  Remarks  on 
Thorwaldsen's  Style;  Rodolph  Schadow's  Filatrice  crit- 
icized; Death  of  Schadow;  Studio  of  Max  Laboureur; 
Villa  Albani;  Rogers;  Capture  of  an  Austrian  Officer 
by  the  Banditti ;  his  Treatment ;  his  Rescue ;  Baths  of 
Dioclesian;  Fountain  of  the  Acqua  Felice;  Church  of 
the  Gesuiti;  Singular  Relics  there 186—195 

Journey  to  Naples ;  the  Power  of  beautiful  Scenery  en- 
hanced by  Association ;  Ridicule  of  fashionable  Non- 
chalance; Ten-acina;  Pontine  Marshes;  Mola  di  Gaeti; 
Scene  near  Cicero's  Formian  Villa;  Lines  on  Jlola  di 
Gaeta;  Naples;  the  Carnival;  Singular  Masks;  Theatre 
of  San  Carlo,  why  inferior  to  the  Scala;  Ballet  of 
Niobe  and  her  Children;  Grotesque  Amusements  of  the 
Carnival;  Extraordinary  Scenes;  the  Bay  of  Naples; 
the  Song  of  the  Syren  Parthenope 195 — 212 

Eniption  of  Mount  Vesuvius;  Excursion  up  the  Jloun- 
tain  during  the  Height  of  the  Eraption;  Imminent 
danger  incun-ed  by  the  Writer,  who  is  saved  by  Salva- 
dor, the  Guide;  Dangerous  Descent  of  the  Mountain' 
the  EiTiption  ceases  on  the  sixth  Day;  Climate  of 
Naples;  its  Effects  on  the  moi-al  and  physical  Tempera/. 


CONTENTS.  XIU 

menti  English  Comforts  contrasted  with  Italian  Skies; 
Character  of  a  young  Englishman  of  Fashion  remark- 
able for  his  Beauty  of  Person  and  dissipated  Habits ;  Ex- 
cursion to  Pompeii;  the  young  Lazzarone;  Remarks  on 
the  Antiquities  at  Pompeii;  a  Pic-nic  Dinner;  Imagin- 
ary Party  of  Pleasure  to  Pompeii 212 — 234 

Account  of  the  Blind  Man  of  Cento,  remarkable  for  his 

Memory;    Anecdote    of    Signor   B ;    his   intended 

Tragedy  on  the  Subject  of  the  "  Sicilian  Vespers;  "  his 
characteristic  Speech;  the  Lago  d'Agnano;  the  Grotto 
del  Cane;  the  disagreeable  Old  Woman;  Remarks  on 
some  of  the  Neapolitan  Churches ;  singular  Instance  of 
Profaneness  and  Superstition ;  two  remarkable  Statues 
in  the  Church  of  San  Severo ;  Remarks  on  the  Museum 
of  Naples;  Pictures;  the  St.  John  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci; 
the  Carita  of  Schidoue;  Parmegiano's  Gouverante; 
Domenichino,  &c. ;  the  Gallery  of  Sculpture;  the 
Statue  of  Aristides;  Contrast  between  ancient  and 
modem  Sculpture ;  between  the  sitting  Agrippina  and 
Canova's  Statue  of  Madame  Letitia ;  the  Flora  Farnese; 
Statue  of  Nero;  a  dying  Gladiator,  expression  of  mortal 
Agony;  Antiquities  brought  from  Herculaneum  and 
Pompeii;  la  Toilette  de  Madame  de  Pompadour;  Ex- 
cellence attained  by  the  Ancients  in  the  Arts  which  em- 
bellish Life 234r-244 

rhe  Quarterly  and  Edinburgh  Reviews  compared  to  the 
two  Giants  in  Pulci;  Circulating  Library  at  Naples; 
Catalogue  of  prohibited  Books ;  general  Appearance  of 
Naples;  the  People;  Influence  of  the  Climate;  Excla- 
mation of  an  Italian;  Last  Evening  at  Naples;  ViUetri: 
Feelings  on  leaving  Naples;  Mola  di  Gaeta;  Cu'cean 
Promontory;  Contrast  between  Italian  and  English 
Landscape  Scenery;  Itri  and  Fondi;  Costume  of  the 
P>asantryat  Mola;  Banditti  near  Fondi 244 — 253 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

BetTum  to  Rome;  Contrast  between  Rome  and  Naples* 
Villas  in  the  Neighbourhood  of  Rome;  Pope's  Gardens 
on  the  Monte  Cavallo;  Pamfili  Gardens;  the  Princess 
Pauline;  Style  of  Italian  Gardens;  English  Landscape 
Gardening;  Capability  Brown;  Gardens  of  Versailles; 
Burial-place  of  the  Pompeys;  San  Gregorio;  Deep  In- 
terest attached  to  Rome;  Wagenal's  Studio;  the  jEgina 
Marbles,  their  Restoration  by  Thorwaldsen ;  Gibson,  the 
English  Sculptor;  Pozzi,  the  Florentine  Statuary;  In- 
stance of  his  atiected  Taste ;  Gibson's  Psyche ;  Anecdote 
of  Canova 253—262 

Dimier  alfresco  Lu  the  Pamfili  Gardens;  View  from  the 
ViUa  Pamfili;  Lines  written  in  the  Gardens;  Com- 
mencement of  the  Holy  Week;  the  Pope's  Chapel; 
Ceremonies;  the  Vatican;  St.  Peter's;  Santa  Maria 
della  Pace;  Raffaelle's  Four  Sibyls;  the  Villa  Lanti; 
Naples  and  Rome,  Distinction  between  their  Beauty; 
Remarks  on  Petrarch;  Guido's  Am"ora;  Triumph  of 
David,  by  Domenichino;  Guido's  Andromeda;  Twelve 
Apostles,  by  Rubens;  Five  Senses,  by  Carlo  Cignani; 
Death  of  Samson,  by  L.  Carracci;  Portrait  of  Nicolo 
Poussin;  the  Miserere;  its  solemn  Effect  in  the  Sistine 
Chapel;  Good  Friday;  Ceremonies  at  the  Vatican; 
Splendor  of  its  Galleries;  Camera  dei  Papiri;  Sala 
della Croce;  Second  Miserere;  Characteristic  Anecdote; 
St.  Peter's;  Illumination  of  the  Gu-andola;  Sestini  the 
Improwisatore ;  Sgricci:  Gorilla  the  Improvvisatrice; 
La  Fantastica;  Subjects  of  Sestini's  Improwisaziono ; 
Description  of  Sestini;  his  Death;  High  Mass  at  St. 
Peter's;  Pilgrims  at  the  Shrine  of  St.  Peter;  Exposition 
of  the  Relics;  Illumination  of  St.  Peter's;  Splendid 
Fireworks 262—291 

Betum  to  Florence;   Viterbo;  Different  Sensations  on 


Los   A'f,,^-,,  :     .-,; 
CONTEXTS.  X-V 

qnit'ing  Rome  and  Naples ;  Radicofani;  Lake  of  Bolsena 
and  Jloutepilciano;  Florence;  Mr.  Rogers;  Conti'ast 
between  the  general  Appearance  of  the  Tuscan  States 
and  the  States  of  the  Church;  Amusing  Instance  of  the 
gossiping  Curiosity  of  the  Florentines;  an  Italian  Sum- 
mer; on  the  Style  of  particular  Painters;  what  is  meant 
by  the  Manner  of  a  Painter;  Remarks  on  the  ditferent 
llamiers  in  which  the  same  Subject  has  been  treated 
by  different  Painters,  exemplified  in  the  Virgin  and 
Holy  Family;  Remarks  on  the  Vii^gins  of  Raffaelle,  of 
Con-eggio,  of  Guide,  of  Titian,  of  ]!\IurLllo,  of  Carlo 
Dolce,  of  Carlo  Maratti,  of  Caravaggio,  of  Rubens,  of 
Vandyke,  of  Michel  Angelo,  of  Carlo  Cignaui;  his 
Madonna  del  Rosario ;  the  iladonnas  of  Sasso  Ferrato 

292—313 

Anecdote  of  an  English  Lady ;  the  Opera,  Signora  Bassi 
Primo  Uomo  at  the  Pergola;  Execrable  Dancing;  Rossini, 
Character  of  his  Music;  his  Influence  on  the  Taste  of 
the  Age;  Anecdote  from  Dr  Holland;  Rossini  compared 
to  Marini ;  Lucca,  Remarks  on  its  Decay ;  Richness  of  the 
country  between  Florence  and  Lucca ;  Style  of  Agri- 
culture; Italian  Plough;  Cathedral  of  Lucca;  Palace; 
Pisa,  its  Look  of  elegant  Tranquillity;  the  Duomo;  the 
Baptistry  and  Leaning  Tower;  the  fabulist  Pignotti; 
University  of  Pisa;  Botanic  Garden;  a  stupendous 
Magnolia;  General  Appearance  of  Leghorn;  a  Visit  to 
the  Jewish  Synagogue ;  Women  caged  up  like  Jlonkeys ; 
English  Burial-gi-ound ;  Tomb  of  Smollett 313—321 

On  the  Meaning  of  the  Picturesque;  England  the  Country 
where  the  Picturesque  least  prevails,  and  why;  the  Pic- 
turesque of  England  and  the  Picturesque  of  Italy  con- 
trasted; the  Spirit  of  the  Ancient  Mythology  still  prev- 
alent   in     Italy;     Claude's    Sunsets;     the    Grosvenor 


Tl  CONTENIB. 

Claudes ;  Apology  for  the  Enthusiasm  of  Travellers ; 
Sarzana;  Fire-flies;  Adventure  at  Lerici;  Fantastic 
Apparition;  the  Lament  at  Nina;  a  Calm  on  the 
Mediterranean;  Sestri;  Genoa  compared  to  a  noble 
Matron;  Personification  of  the  other  gi-eat  Cities  of 
Italy;  Coup-d'oeil  of  Genoa;  Strada  Nuova;  Beauty 
no  Rarity  at  Genoa ;  the  !Mazzara,  its  Effect  on  Female 
Beauty;  Farewell  to  Italy;  Turin;  Influence  of  the 
Conversation  of  Itlen  of  the  World  and  Jlen  of  Gallantry 
on  the  Female  Mind;  the  Life  of  a  Coquette;  St. 
Michael;  Lyons;  Sorrowful  Recollections  of  Italy;  In- 
creasing Illness  and  Death  of  the  Writer;  Conc.usion 

32  .—341 


DIARY 


AN    ENNUYEE  ♦ 

Calais,  June  21. 

What  young  lady,  travelling  for  the  first  time 
on  the  continent,  does  not  write  a  "  Diary  V  "  No 
Booner  have  we  stept  on  the  shores  of  France — no 
sooner  are  we  seated  in  the  gay  salon  at  Dessin's, 
than  we  call,  like  Biddy  Fudge,  for  "  French  pens 
and  French  ink,"  and  forth  steps  from  its  case  the 
morocco-bound  diary,  regularly  ruled  and  paged, 
with  its  patent  Bramah  lock  and  key,  wherein  we 
are  to  record  and  preserve  all  the  striking,  pro- 
found, and  original  observations — the  classical  rem- 
iniscences— the  thread-bare  raptures — the  poetical 
effusions — in  short,  all  the  never-sufficiently-to- 
be-exhausted  topics  of  sentiment  and  enthusiasm, 
which  must  necessarily  suggest  themselves  whila 
posting  from  Paris  to  Naples. 

Verbiage,  emptiness,  and  affectation  ! 

•  First  pubUshed  in  1826. 


18  DIAUT  OF   AN   ENNUTEE. 

Yes — but  what  must  I  do,  then,  with  my  volume 
in  green  morocco  ? 

Very  true,  I  did  not  think  of  that. 

We  have  all  read  the  Diary  of  an  Invalid, 
the  best  of  all  diaricf  snco  oli  Evelyn's. — 

Wei],  then, — Here  beginneth  the  Diary  of  a 
Blue  Devil. 

^Miat  inconsistent  beings  are  we  ! — How  strange 
that,  in  such  a  moment  as  this,  I  can  jest  in  mock- 
ery of  myself !  but  I  will  write  on.  Some  keep  a 
diary,  because  it  is  the  fashion — a  reason  why  1 
should  not ;  some  because  it  is  hlue,  but  I  am  not 
blue,  only  a  hlue  devil;  some  for  their  amusement, 
— amusement!  !  alas!  alas! — and  some  that  they 
may  remember,  and  I  that  I  may  forget.  O  • 
would  it  were  possible ! 

When,  to-day,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I 
saw  the  shores  of  England  fade  away  in  the  dis- 
tance— did  the  conviction  that  I  should  never  be- 
hold them  more,  bring  with  it  one  additional  pang 
of  regret,  or  one  consoling  thought  ? — neither  the 
one  nor  the  other.  I  leave  behind  me  the  scenes, 
the  objects,  so  long  associated  with  pain ;  but 
from  pain  itself  I  cannot  fly:  it  has  become  a 
part  of  myself  I  know  not  yet  whether  I  ought 
to  rejoice  and  be  thankful  for  this  opportunity  of 
travelling,  while  my  mind  is  thus  torn  and  upset ; 
or  rather  regret  that  I  must  visit  scenes  of  inter- 
'jst,  of  splendor,  of  novelty — scenes  over  which, 
years  ago,  I  used  to  ponder  with  many  a  sigh,  and 


DIARY   OF    AN   ENNTJTfcfi.  19 

many  a  vain  longing,  now  that  I  am  lost  to  all  the 
pleasure  they  could  once  have  excited  :  for  what 
is  all  the  world  to  me  now  ?  But  I  will  not  weakly 
yield  :  though  time  and  I  have  not  been  long  ac- 
quainted, do  I  not  know  what  miracles  he,  "  the 
all-powerful  healer,"  can  perform  ?  Who  knows 
but  this  dark  cloud  may  pass  away  ?  Continual 
motion,  continual  activity,  continual  novelty,  the 
absolute  necessity  for  self-command,  may  do  some- 
thing for  me.  I  cannot  quite  forget ;  but  if  I  can 
cease  to  remember  for  a  few  minutes,  or  even,  it 
may  be,  for  a  few  hours  l  O  how  idle  to  talk  of 
"  indulging  grief:  "  talk  of  indulging  the  rack,  the 
rheumatism!  who  ever  indulged  grief  that  truly 
felt  it  ?  to  endure  is  hard  enough. 

It  is  o'er!  with  its  pains  and  its  pleasures, 

The  dream  of  affection  is  o'er ! 
The  feelings  I  lavish'd  so  fondly 

Will  never  return  to  rae  more. 

With  a  faith,  0 !  too  blindly  believing — 
A  truth,  no  unkindness  could  move; 

My  prodigal  heart  hath  expended 
At  once,  an  existence  of  love. 

And  now,  like  the  spendthrift  forsaken, 
B}'  those  whom  his  bounty  had  blest, 

Ail  empty,  and  cold,  and  despairing, 
It  shrinks  in  my  desolate  breast. 

But  a  spirit  is  burning  within  me, 
Unquench'd,  and  unquenchable  yet; 

It  shall  teach  me  to  bear  uncomplaining, 
The  grief  I  can  never  forget. 


20  ST.   GERMAmS. 

Rouen,  June  25. — I  do  not  pity  Joan  of  Arc  • 
that  heroic  woman  only  paid  tlie  price  'which  all 
must  pay  for  celebrity  in  some  shape  or  other : 
the  swoi'd  or  the  fegot,  the  scaffold  or  the  field, 
public  hatred  or  private  heart-break ;  what  mat- 
tor  ?  The  noble  Bedford  could  not  rise  above 
the  ajre  in  which  he  lived :  but  that  was  the  age 
of  gallantry  and  chivalry,  as  well  as  superstition  : 
and  could  Charles,  the  lover  of  Agnes  Sorel,  with 
all  the  knights  and  nobles  of  France,  look  on  while 
their  champion,  and  a  woman,  was  devoted  to 
chains  and  death,  without  one  effort  to  save  her  ? 

It  has  often  been  said  that  her  fate  disgraced  the 
military  fame  of  the  English  ;  it  is  a  far  fouler  blot 
on  the  chivalry  of  France. 

St.  Ger mains,  June  27. — I  cannot  bear  this  place, 
another  hour  in  it  will  kill  me  ;  this  sultry  evening 
— this  sickening  sunshine — this  quiet,  unbroken, 
boundless  landscape — these  motionless  woods — the 
Seine  stealing,  creeping  through  the  level  plains — 
the  dull  grandeur  of  the  old  chateau — the  languid 
repose  of  the  whole  scene — instead  of  soothing, 
torture  me.  I  am  left  without  resource,  a  prey  to 
myself  and  to  my  memory — to  reflection,  which 
embitters  the  source  of  suffering,  and  thought, 
which  brings  distraction.  Horses  on  to  Paris ! 
Vite !  Vite ! 

Paris,  28. — What  said  the  witty  Frenchwoman  ? 
— Paris  est  le  lieu  du  monde  oil  Von  pent  le  tnieux  se 


21 


passer  de  boriheur  ; — in  that  case  it  will  suit  me  ad 
mirably. 

29. — AVe  walked  and  drove  about  all  day :  I  was 
amused.  I  marvel  at  my  own  versatility  when  I 
think  how  soon  my  quick  spirits  were  excited  by 
this  gay,  gaudy,  noisy,  idle  place.  The  different 
appearance  of  the  streets  of  London  and  Paris  is 
the  first  thing  to  strike  a  stranger.  In  the  gayest 
and  most  crowded  streets  of  London  the  people 
move  steadily  and  rapidly  along,  with  a  grave  col- 
lected air,  as  if  all  had  some  business  in  view  ;  here, 
as  a  little  girl  observed  the  other  day,  all  the  peo- 
ple walk  about  "  like  ladies  and  gentlemen  going  a 
visiting  :  "  the  women  well  dressed  and  smiling,  and 
with  a  certain  jaunty  air,  trip  along  with  their  pe- 
culiar mincing  step,  and  appear  as  if  their  sole 
object  was  but  to  show  themselves ;  the  men  ill- 
dressed,  slovenly,  and  in  general  ill-looking,  lounge 
indolently,  and  stare  as  if  they  had  no  other  pur- 
pose in  life  but  to  look  about  them.* 

July  12. — "  Quel  est  a  Paris  le  supreme  talent? 
celui  d'amuser :  et  quel  est  le  supreme  bonheur  ? 
I'amusement." 

Then  le  supreme  bonheur  may  be  found  every 
evening  from  nine  to  ten,  in  a  walk  along  the  Bou- 
levards, or  a  ramble  through  the  Champs  Elysees, 
and  from  ten  to  twelve  in  a  salon  at  Tortoni's. 

What  an   extraordinary  scene  was  that  I  wit« 

*  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  this  was  written  ten  years  ago: 
the  aspect  of  Paris  is  much  changed  since  then. 


22  CHAMPS    ELYSEES. 

nessed  to-night !  how  truly  French  !  Spite  of  my- 
self and  all  my  melancholy  musings,  and  all  my 
philosophic  allowances  for  the  difference  of  national 
character,  I  was  irresistibly  compelled  to  smile  at 
some  of  the  farcical  groups  we  encountered.  In 
the  most  crowded  parts  of  the  Champs  Elys^es  this 
evening,  (Sunday,)  there  sat  an  old  lady  with  a 
wrinkled  yellow  face  and  sharp  features,  dressed 
in  flounced  gown  of  dirty  white  muslin,  a  pink  sash 
and  a  Leghorn  hat  and  feathers.  In  one  hand  she 
held  a  small  tray  for  the  contribution  of  amateurs, 
and  in  the  other  an  Italian  bravura,  which  she  sung 
or  rather  screamed  out  with  a  thousand  indescriba- 
ble shruggings,  contortions,  and  grimaces,  and  in  a 
voice  to  which  a  cracked  tea-kettle,  or  a  "  brazen 
candlestick  turned,"  had  seemed  the  music  of  the 
spheres.  A  little  fiirther  on  we  found  two  elderly 
gentlemen  playing  at  see-saw ;  one  an  immense 
corpulent  man  of  fifteen  stone  at  least,  the  other  a 
thin  dwarfish  animal  with  grey  mustachios,  who 
held  before  him  what  I  thought  was  a  child,  but  on 
approaching,  it  proved  to  be  a  large  stone  strapped 
before  him,  to  vender  his  weight  a  counterpoise  to 
that  of  his  huge  companion.  We  passed  on,  and 
returning  about  half  an  hour  afterwards  down  the 
same  walk,  we  found  the  same  venerable  pair  pur- 
suing their  edifying  amusement  with  as  much  en- 
thusiasm as  before. 

***** 

Before  the  revolution,  sacrilege  became  one  of 


29 


the  most  frequent  crimes.     I  was   told  of  a  mai 
who,  havinof  stolen  from  a  church  the  silver  box 
containing  the   consecrated  wafers,  returned   the 
wafers  next  day  in  a  letter  to  the  Cure  of  t'- 
parish,  having  used  one  of  them  to  seal  his  enve! 
*  *  *  * 

July  27. — A  conversation  with  S**  alwa) 
leaves  me  sad.  Can  it  then  be  possible  that  he  is 
right  ?  No — O  no  !  my  understanding  rejects  the 
idea  with  indignation,  my  whole  heart  recoils  from 
it ;  yet  if  it  should  be  so !  what  then :  have  I 
been  till  now  the  dupe  and  the  victim  of  factitious 
feelings  ?  virtue,  honour,  feeling,  generosity,  you 
are  then  but  words,  signifying  nothing  ?  Yet  if 
this  vain  philosophy  lead  to  happiness,  would  not 
S**  be  happy  ?  it  is  evident  he  is  not.  When  he 
said  that  the  object  existed  not  in  this  world  which 
could  lead  him  twenty  yards  out  of  his  way,  did 
this  sound  like  happiness?  I  remember  that 
while  he  spoke,  instead  of  feeling  either  persuaded 
or  convinced  by  his  captivating  eloquence,  I  was 
perplexed  and  distressed ;  I  suffered  a  painful 
compassion,  and  tears  were  in  my  eyes.  I,  who 
so  often  have  pitied  myself,  pitied  him  at  that  mo- 
ment a  thousand  times  moi-e  ;  I  thought,  I  would 
not  buy  tranquillity  at  such  a  price  as  he  has  ])aid 
for  it.  Yet,  if  he  should  be  right  ?  that  if 
which  every  now  and  then  suggests  itself,  is  ter- 
rible ;  it  shakes  me  in  the  utmost  recesses  of  my 
heart. 


24  PARIS. 

S**,  in  spite  of  myself,  and  in  spite  of  ail  that, 
with  most  perverted  pains,  he  has  made  himself, 
(so  different  from  what  he  once  was,)  can  charm 
and  interest,  pain  and  perplex  me : — not  so  D** 
another  disciple  of  the  same  school :  he  inspirea 
me  with  the  strongest  antipathy  I  ever  felt  for  a 
human  being.  Insignificant  and  disagreeable  in 
his  appearance,  he  looks  as  if  all  the  bile  under 
heaven  had  found  its  way  into  his  complexion, 
and  all  the  infernal  irony  of  a  Mephistopheles  into 
his  turned-up  nose  and  insolent  curled  lip.  He 
is,  he  says  he  is,  an  atheist,  a  materialist,  a  sen- 
sualist :  the  pains  he  takes  to  deprave  and  degrade 
his  nature,  render  him  so  disgusting,  that  I  could . 
not  even  speak  in  his  presence ;  I  dreaded  lest  he 
should  enter  into  conversation  with  me.  I  might 
have  spared  myself  the  fear.  He  piques  himself 
on  his  utter  contempt  for,  and  disregard  of,  women  ; 
and,  after  all,  is  not  himself  worthy  these  words  I 
bestow  on  him. 

*  *  *  * 

Auff.  25. — Here  begins,  I  hope,  a  new  era.  I 
have  had  a  long  and  dangerous  illness  ;  the  crisis 
perhaps  of  what  I  have  been  suffering  for  mouths. 
Contrary  to  my  own  wishes,  and  to  the  expecta- 
tions of  others,  I  live:  and  trusting  in  God  that 
I  have  been  preserved  for  some  wise  and  good 
purpose,  am  therefore  thankful :  even  supposing 
I  should  be  reserved  for  new  trials,  I  cannot 
Burely  in  this  world  suffer  more  than  I  have  suf* 


25 


fered :  it  Is  not  possible  that  the  same  causes  can 
be  again  combined  to  afflict  me. 

How  truly  can  I  say,  few  and  evil  have  my 
days  been  !  may  I  not  say  as  truly,  I  have  not 
weakly  yielded,  I  have  not  "  gone  about  to  cause 
my  heart  to  despair,"  but  have  striven,  and  not  in 
vain  ?  I  took  the  remedies  they  gave  me,  and  was 
grateful ;  I  resigned  myself  to  live,  when,  had  I 
but  wiUed  it,  I  might  have  died ;  and  when  to  die 
and  be  at  rest,  seemed  to  my  sick  heart  the  only 
covetable  boon. 

Sept.  3. — A  terrible  anniversary  at  Paris — still 
ill  and  very  weak.  Edmonde  came,  "  pour  me 
desennuyer."  He  has  soul  enough  to  bear  a  good 
deal  of  wearing  down  ;  but  whether  the  fine  quali- 
ties he  possesses  will  turn  to  good  or  evil,  is  hard 
to  tell :  it  is  evident  his  character  has  not  yet  set- 
tled :  it  vibrates  still  as  nature  inclines  him  to 
good,  and  all  the  circumstances  around  him  to 
evil.  We  talked  as  usual  of  women,  of  gallantry, 
of  the  French  and  EngUsh  character,  of  national 
prejudices,  of  Shakspeare  and  Racine,  (never  fail- 
ing subjects  of  discussion,)  and  he  read  aloud 
Delille's  Catacombs  de  Rome,  with  great  feeling, 
animation,  and  dramatic  effect. 

La  mode  at  Paris  is  a  spell  of  wondrous  power  : 
it  is  most  like  what  we  should  call  in  England  a 
rage,  a  mania,  a  torrent  sweeping  down  the  bounds 
between  good  and  evil,  sense  and  nonsense,  upou 


26 


riety,  while  the  gold  and  the  mai-ble  are  buried 
and  hidden  till  its  force  be  spent.  The  rage  for 
cashmeres  and  little  dogs  has  lately  given  way  to 
a  rage  for  Le  Solitaire,  a  romance  written,  I  be- 
lieve, by  a  certain  Vicomte  d'Arlincoiirt.  Le  So- 
litaire rules  the  imagination,  the  taste,  the  dress 
of  half  Paris :  If  you  go  to  the  theatre,  it  is  to  see 
the  "  Solitaire,"  either  as  tragedy,  opera,  or  melp- 
drame ;  the  men  dress  their  hair  and  throw  their 
cloaks  about  them,  a  la  Solkaire ;  bonnets  and 
caps,  tiounces  and  ribbons,  are  all  a  la  Solitaire ; 
the  print  shops  are  full  of  scenes  from  I^e  Soli- 
taire ;  it  is  one  very  toilette,  one  very  work-table  ; 
■ — ladies  carry  it  about  in  their  reticules  to  show 
each  other  that  they  are  a  la  mode  ;  and  the  men 
— what  can  they  do  but  humble  their  understand- 
ings and  be  extaxies,  when  beautiful  eyes  sparkle 
in  its  defence  and  glisten  in  its  praise,  and  ruby 
lips  pronounce  it  divine,  delicious,  "  quelle  sub- 
limite  dans  les  descriptions,  quelle  force  dans  les 
caract^res  !  quelle  ame  !  feu  !  chaleur  !  verve  1 
originalite  !  passion  ! "  &c. 

"  Vous  n'avez  pas  lu  le  Solitaire  ? "  said  Ma- 
dame M.  yesterday.  "  Eh  mon  dieu  !  il  est  done 
possible  !  vous  ?  mais,  ma  chere,  vous  etes  perdue 
de  reputation,  et  pour  jamais  I  " 

To  retrieve  my  lost  reputation,  I  sat  down  to 
read  Le  Solitaire,  and  as  I  read  my  amazement 
grew,  and  I  did  in  "  gaping  wonderment  abound," 
to  think  that  fashion,  like  the  insane  root  of  old, 


27 


had  power  to  drive  a  whole  city  mad  with  non- 
sense ;  for  such  a  tissue  of  abominable  absurdities, 
bombast  and  blasphemy,  bad  t;iste  and  bad  lan- 
guage, was  never  surely  indited  by  any  madman, 
in  or  out  of  Bedlam :  not  Maturin  himself,  that 
king  of  fustian, 

" ever  ^\Tote  or  borrowed 


Any  thing  half  so  hon'id !  " 

and  this  is  the  book  which  has  turned  the  brains 
of  half  Paris,  which  has  gone  through  fifteen 
editions  in  a  few  weeks,  which  not  to  admire  is 
*^ pit oij able,"  and  not  to  have  read  "  quelque  chose 
d'inouie." 

The  objects  at  Paris  which  have  most  struck 
me,  have  been  those  least  vaunted. 

The  view  of  the  city  from  the  Pont  des  Arts, 
to-night,  enchanted  me.  As  everybody  who  goes 
to  Rome  views  the  Coliseum  by  moonlight,  so 
nobody  should  leave  Paris  without  seeing  the 
effect  from  the  Pont  des  Arts,  on  a  fine  moon- 
light night : — 

"  Earth  hath  not  any  thing  to  show  more  fair." 

It  is  singular  I  should  have  felt  its  influence  at 
such  a  moment :  it  appears  to  me  that  those  who, 
from  feeling  too  strongly,  have  learnt  to  consider 
too  deeply,  become  less  sensible  to  the  works  of 
art,  and  more  alive  to  nature.  Are  there  not 
times   when   we  turn   with  indifference  from  the 


28 


finest  pic  cure  or  statue — the  most  improving  b(»ok 
• — the  most  amusing  poem  ;  and  when  the  very 
commonest,  and  every-day  beauties  of  nature,  a 
soft  evening,  a  lovely  landscape,  the  moon  riding 
in  her  glory  through  a  clouded  sky,  without 
forcing  or  asking  attention,  sink  into  our  hearts  ? 
They  do  not  console, — they  sometimes  add  poig- 
nancy to  pain  ;  but  still  they  have  a  power,  and 
do  not  speak  in  vain  :  they  become  a  part  of  us ; 
and  never  are  we  so  inclined  to  claim  kindred  with 
nature,  as  wlien  sorrow  has  lent  us  her  mournful 
experience.  At  the  time  I  felt  this  (and  how  many 
have  felt  it  as  deeply,  and  expressed  it  better !)  I 
did  not  Ihink  it,  still  less  could  I  have  said  it ; 
but  I  have  pleasure  in  recording  the  past  impres- 
sion. "  On  rend  mieux  compte  de  ce  qu'on  a 
senti  que  de  ce  qu'on  sent." 

*  *  *  * 

September  8. — Paris  is  crowded  with  English ; 
and  I  do  not  wonder  at  it;  it  is,  on  the  whole, 
a  pleasant  place  to  live  in.  I  like  Paris,  though  I 
shall  quit  it  without  regret  as  soon  as  I  have 
strength  to  travel.  Here  the  social  arts  are 
3arried  to  perfection — above  all,  the  art  of  con- 
versation :  every  one  talks  much  and  talks  well. 
In  this  multiplicity  of  words  it  must  happen  of 
course  that  a  certain  quantum  of  ideas  is  inter 
mixed :  and  somehow  or  other,  by  dint  of  listen- 
ing, talking,  and  looking  about  them,  people  do 
learn,  and  information  to  a  certain  point  is  general 


29 


Those  who  have  knowledge  are  not  shy  cf  im- 
parting it,  and  those  who  are  ignorant  take  care 
not  to  seem  so  ;  but  are  sometimes  agreeable,  often 
amusing,  and  seldom  beles.  Nowhere  have  I  seen 
unformed  sheepish  boys,  nowhere  the  surliness, 
awkwardness,  ungraciousness,  and  uneasy  proud 
bashfulness,  I  have  seen  in  the  best  companies  in 
England.  Our  Erench  friend  Lucien  has,  at  fif- 
teen, the  air  and  conversation  of  a  finished  gentle- 
man ;  and  our  EngUsh  friend  C is  at  eighteen, 

the  veriest  log  of  a  lumpish  schoolboy  that  ever 
entered  a  room.  AVhat  I  have  seen  of  society,  I 
like  :  the  delicious  climate  too,  the  rich  skies,  the 
clear  elastic  atmosphere,  the  out  of  doors  life  the 
people  lead,  are  all  (in  summer  at  least)  delight- 
ful. There  may  be  less  comfort  here  ;  but  nobody 
feels  the  want  of  it;  and  there  is  certainly  more 
amusement — and  amusement  is  here  truly  "  le 
supreme  bonheur."  Happiness,  according  to  the 
French  meaning  of  the  word,  lies  more  on  the  sur- 
face of  life  :  it  is  a  sort  of  happiness  which  is 
cheap  and  ever  at  hand.  This  is  the  place  to  live 
in  for  tiie  merry  poor  man,  or  the  melancholy  rich 
one  :  for  those  who  have  too  much  money,  and 
those  who  have  too  little  ;  for  those  who  only  wish, 
like  the  Irishman,  "  to  live  all  the  days  of  their 
life," — prendre  en  Uglre  inonnoie  la  sornme  desjdai- 
sirs:  but  to  the  thinking,  the  feeling,  the  domestic 
man,  who  only  exists,  enjoys,  suffers  through  his 
affections — 


so  GENEVA. 

"  Who  is  retired  as  noontide  dew, 
Or  fountain  in  a  noonday  grove — " 

to  such  a  one,  Paris  must  be  nothing  better  than  a 
vast  frippery  shop,  an  ever-varying  galantee-show, 
an  eternal  vanity  fair,  a  vortex  of  folly,  a  pan- 
demonium of  vice. 

Sepieniber  18. —  Our  imperials  are  packed,  our 
passports  signed,  and  we  set  off  to-morrow  for 
Geneva  by  Dijon  and  the  Jura.  I  leave  nothing 
behind  me  to  regret,  I  see  nothing  before  me  to 
fear,  and  have  no  hope  but  in  change  :  and  now 
all  that  remains  to  be  said  of  Paris,  and  all  its 
wonders  and  all  its  vanities,  all  its  glories  and  all 
its  gayeties,  are  they  not  recorded  in  the  ponderous 
chronicles  of  most  veracious  tourists — and  what 
can  I  add  thereto  V 

^  ^  v^  ^ 

Geneva,  Saturday  Night,  11  o'clock. 
Can  it  be  the  "  blue  rushing  of  the  arrowy 
Rhone"  I  hear  from  my  window  ?  Shall  I  hear  it 
to-morrow,  when  I  wake  ?  Have  I  seen,  have  I 
felt  the  reality  of  what  I  have  so  often  imagined  ? 
and  much,  much  more  V  How  little  do  I  feel  the 
contretemps  and  privations  which  affect  others — 
and  feel  them  onJy  because  they  affect  others  1 
To  me  they  are  notliing :  I  have  in  a  few  hours 
stored  my  mind  with  images  of  beauty  and  gran- 
deur which  will  last  through  my  whole  existence. 
*  *  *  * 

Yet  I  know  I  am  not  singular ;  others  have  felt 


81 


the  same  :  others,  who,  capable  of  "  di  inking  in 
the  soul  of  things,"  have  viewed  nature  less  with 
their  eyes  than  their  hearts.  Now  I  feel  the  value 
of  my  own  enthusiasm  ;  now  am  I  repaid  in  part 
for  many  pains  and  sorrows  and  errors  it  has  cost 
me.  Though  the  natural  expression  of  that  en- 
thusiasm be  now  repressed  and  restrained,  and 
my  spirits  subdued  by  long  illness,  what  but  en- 
thusiasm could  elevate  my  mind  to  a  level  with 
the  sublime  objects  round  me,  and  excite  me  to 
pour  out  my  whole  heart  in  admiration  as  I  do 
now  !  How  deeply  they  have  penetrated  into  my 
imagination  ! — Beautiful  nature  !  If  I  could  but 
infuse  into  you  a  portion  of  my  own  existence,  as 
you  have  become  a  part  of  mine — if  I  could  but 
bid  you  reflect  back  my  soul,  as  it  reflects  back 
all  your  magnificence,  I  would  make  you  my  only 
friend,  and  wish  no  other  ;  content  "  to  love  earth 
only  for  its  earthly  sake." 

I  am  so  tired  to-night,  I  can  say  nothing  of  the 
Jura,  nor  of  the  superb  ascent  of  the  mountain,  to 
me  so  novel,  so  astonishing  a  scene;  nor  of  the 
cheerful  brilliance  of  the  morning  sun,  illuminating 
the  high  cliffs,  and  throwing  the  deep  woody  valleys 
into  the  darkest  shadow ;  nor  of  the  far  distant 
plains  of  France  seen  between  the  hills,  and  melt- 
ing away  into  a  soft  vapory  light ;  nor  of  Morey, 
and  its  delicious  strawberries  and  honey-comb  ;  nor 
of  that  never-to-be-forgotten  moment,  when  turn- 
ing the  corner  of  the  road,  as  it  wound  round  a 


cliff  near  the  summit,  we  beheld  the  lake  and  city 
of  Geneva  spread  at  our  feet,  with  its  magnificent 
background  of  the  Italian  Alps,  peak  beyond 
peak,  snow-crowned !  and  Mont  Blanc  towering 
over  all !  No  description  had  prepared  me  for  this 
prospect ;  and  the  first  impression  was  rapturous 
surprise  :  but  by  degrees  the  vastness  and  the  huge 
gigantic  features  of  the  scene,  pressed  like  a  weight 
upon  "  my  amazed  sprite,"  and  the  feeling  of  its 
immense  extent  fatigued  my  imagination,  till  my 
spirits  gave  way  in  tears.  Then  came  remem- 
brances of  those  I  ought  to  forget,  blending  with 
all  I  saw  a  deeper  power — raising  up  emotions, 
long  buried  though  not  dead,  to  fright  me  with 
their  resurrection.  I  was  so  glad  to  arrive  here, 
and  shall  be  so  glad  to  sleep— even  the  dull  sleep 
which  laudanum  brings  me. 

Oct.  1. — When  next  I  submit  (having  the  power 
to  avoid  it)  to  be  crammed  into  a  carriage,  and 
cari'ied  from  place  to  place,  whether  I  would  or 
not,  and  be  set  down  at  the  stated  points  de  vue, 
while  a  detestable  laquais  points  out  what  I  am  to 
admire,  I  shall  deserve  to  endure  again  what  I 
endured  to-day.  As  there  was  no  possibility  of 
relief,  I  resigned  myself  to  my  fate,  and  was  even 
amused  by  the  absurdity  of  my  own  situation. 
We  went  to  see  the  junction  of  the  Arve  and  the 
Rhone  :  or  rather  to  see  the  Arve  pollute  the  rich, 
blue,  transparent  Rhone,  with  its  turbid  waters. 
The  day  was  heavy,  and  the  clouds  rolled  in  pro- 


33 


digious  masses  along  the  dark  sides  of  tlie  moun- 
tains, frequently  hiding  them  from  our  view,  and 
substituting  for  their  graceful  outlines  and  ever- 
varying  contrast  of  tint  and  shade,  an  impenetrable 
veil  of  dark  grey  vapor. 

3d. — We  took  a  boat  and  rowed  on  the  lake 
lor  about  two  hours.  Our  boatman,  a  fine  hand- 
some athletic  figure,  was  very  talkative  and  in- 
(elUgent.  He  had  been  in  the  ser\'ice  of  Lord 
liyron,  and  was  with  him  in  that  storm  between 
La  Melllerie  and  St.  Gingough,  which  is  described 
in  the  third  canto  of  Childe  Harold.  He  pointed 
out,  among  the  beautiful  villas,  which  adorn  the 
banks  on  either  side,  that  in  which  the  empress 
Josephine  had  resided  for  six  months,  not  long 
before  her  death.  When  he  spoke  of  her,  he 
rested  upon  his  oars  to  descant  upon  her  virtues, 
her  generosity,  her  afiabillty,  her  goodness  to  the 
poor,  and  his  countenance  became  quite  animated 
with  enthusiasm.  Here,  in  France,  wherever  the 
name  of  Josephine  is  mentioned,  there  seems  to 
exist  but  one  feeling,  one  opinion  of  her  benefi- 
cence and  amabilite  of  character.  Our  boatman 
bad  also  rowed  Marie  Louise  across  the  lake,  on 
her  way  to  Paris  :  he  gave  us  no  very  captivating 
picture  of  her.  He  described  her  as  "  grande, 
blonde,  bienfaile,  et  extrii.iement  Ji^re ;"  and  told  us 
how  she  tormented  her  ladies  in  waiting  ;  "  coinme 
elle  tracassait  ses  dames  d'honneur."  The  day 
being  rainy  and  gloomy,  her  attendants  begged  of 


34 


her  to  defer  the  passage  for  a  shoit  time,  till  the 
fogs  had  cleared  away,  and  discovered  all  the 
beauty  of  the  surrounding  shores.  She  replied 
haughtily  and  angrily,  "  Je  veux.  faire  ce  que  je 
veux — allez  toujours." 

M.  le  Baron  M n,  whom  we  knew  at  Paris, 

told  me  several  delightful  anecdotes  of  Josephine : 
he  was  attached  to  her  household,  and  high  in  her 
confidence.  Napoleon  sent  him  on  the  very  morning 
of  his  second  nuptials,  with  a  message  and  billet  to 
the  ex-empress.  On  hearing  that  the  ceremony 
was  performed  which  had  passed  her  sceptre  into 
the  hands  of  the  proud,  cold-hearted  Austrian,  the 
feelings  of  the  woman  overcame  every  other. 
She  burst  Into  tears,  and  wringing  her  hands,  ex- 
claimed "  Ah !  au  moins,  qu'il  soit  heureux  !  " 
Napoleon  resigned  this  estimable  and  amiable 
creature  to  narrow  views  of  selfish  policy,  and 
with  her  his  good  genius  fled  :  he  deserved  it,  and 
verily  he  hath  had  his  reward. 

AVe  drove  after  dinner  to  Copet ;  and  the  Duch- 
ess de  Broglie  being  absent,  had  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  the  chateau.  All  things  "  were  there  of 
her  " — of  her,  whose  genuine  worth  excused,  whose 
all-commanding  talents  threw  Into  shade  those  fail- 
ings which  belonged  to  the  weakness  of  her  sex, 
and  her  warm  feelings  and  imagination.  The  ser- 
vant girl  who  showed  us  the  apartments  had  been 
fifteen  years  In  Madame  de  Stael's  service.  All 
*;he  servants  had  remained  long  in  the  family,  "  elle 


COPET.  85 

^tait  si  bonne  et  si  cliarmante  maitresse  ! "  A  pic- 
ture of  Madame  de  Stael  when  young,  gave  me  the 
idea  of  a  fine  countenance  and  figure,  though  the 
features  were  irregular.  In  the  bust,  the  expres- 
sion is  not  so  prepossessing: — there  the  colour  and 
brilliance  of  her  splendid  dark  eyes,  the  finest 
feature  of  her  face,  are  of  com-se  quite  lost.  The 
bust  of  M.  Rocca*  was  standing  in  the  Baron  de 
Stael's  dressing-room  :  I  was  more  struck  with  it 
than  any  thing  I  saw,  not  only  as  a  chef  d'oeuvre, 
but  from  the  perfect  and  regular  beauty  of  the 
head,  and  the  charm  of  the  expression.  It  was  just 
such  a  mouth  as  we  might  suppose  to  have  uttered 
his  well-known  reply — "  Je  I'aimerai  tellemeixt, 
qu'elle  Jinlra  par  m'ahner."  Madame  de  Stael  had 
a  son  by  this  marriage,  who  had  just  been  brought 
home  by  his  brother,  the  Baron,  from  a  school  in 
the  neighbourhood.  He  is  about  seven  years  old. 
If  we  may  believe  the  servant,  Madame  de  Stael 
did  not  acknowledge  this  son  till  just  before  her 
death ;  and  she  described  the  wonder  of  the  boy 
on  being  brought  home  to  the  chateau,  and  desired 
to  call  Monsieur  le  Baron  "  Mon  frere "  and 
"Auguste."  This  part  of  Madame  de  Stael's  con- 
duct seems  incomprehensible ;  but  her  death  is 
recent,  the  circumstances  little  known,  and  it  is 
difficult  to  judge  her  motives.  As  a  icornan,  as  a 
wife,  she  might  not  have  been  able  to  brave  "  the 
world's  dread  laugh  " — but  as  a  mother  ? 

*  By  Christian  Fnedericla  Tiock. 


86  PANORAMA   OF   LAUSANNE. 

^"^e  have  also  seen  Ferney — a  place  which  did 
not  interest  me  much,  for  I  liave  no  sympathies 
with  Voltaire  : — and  some  other  beautiful  scenes  in 
the  neighbourhood. 

The  Panorama  exhibited  in  London  just  before 
I  left  it,  is  wonderfully  correct,  with  one  pardonable 
exception :  the  artist  did  not  venture  to  make  the 
waters  of  the  lake  of  the  intense  ultra-marine 
tinged  with  violet  as  I  now  see  them  before  me ; 

"  So  darkly,  deeply,  beautifully  blue ;  " 
it  would  have  shocked  English  eyes  as  an  exagger- 
ation, or  rather  impossibility. 

THE    PANORAMA    OF   LAUSANNE. 

Now  blest  forever  be  that  heaven-sprung  art 

Which  can  transport  us  in  its  magic  power 

From  all  the  turmoil  of  the  busy  crowd, 

From  the  gay  haunts  where  pleasure  is  ador'd, 

'Mid  the  hot  sick'ning  glare  of  pomp  and  light; 

And  foshion  worsliipp'd  by  a  gaudy  tlu'ong 

Of  heartless  idlers — from  the  jarring  world 

And  all  its  passions,  follies,  cares,  and  crimes— 

And  bids  us  gaze,  even  in  the  city's  heart. 

On  such  a  scene  as  this !  0  fairest  spot ! 

If  but  the  pictured  semblance,  the  dead  image 

Of  thy  majestic  beauty,  hath  a  power 

To  wake  such  deep  delight;  if  that  blue  lake, 

Over  whose  lifeless  breast  no  bi'eezes  play, 

Those  mimic  mountains  robed  in  purple  light, 

Yon  painted  vei'dure  that  but  setms  to  glow, 

Thjse  forms  uubreathing,  and  those  motionless  woods 


JOUUNEY   TO    MILAN,  87 

A  beauteous  mockery  all — can"  ravish  thus, 

What  would  it  be,  could  we  now  gaze  indeed 

Upon  thy  Ihing  landscape  ?  could  we  breathe 

Thy  mountain  air,  and  listen  to  thy  waves, 

As  they  run  rippling  past  our  feet,  and  see 

That  lake  lit  up  by  dancing  sunbeams — and 

Those  light  leaves  quivering  in  the  summer  air, 

Or  linger  some  sweet  eve  just  on  this  spot 

Where  now  we  seein  to  stand,  and  watch  the  stars 

Flash  into  splendor,  one  by  one,  as  night 

Steals  over  yon  snow-peaks,  and  twilight  fades 

Behind  the  steeps  of  Jura!  here,  0  her-e ! 

'Mid  scenes  where  Genius,  Worth,  and  Wisdom  dwelt,* 

Which  fancy  peopled  with  a  glowing  train 

Of  most  divine  creations — Here  to  stray 

With  one  most  cherished,  and  in  loving  eyes 

Read  a  sweet  comment  on  the  wonders  round — 

Would  this  indeed  be  bliss?  would  not  the  soul 

Be  lost  in  its  own  depth?  and  the  full  heart 

Languish  with  sense  of  beauty  unexprest, 

And  faint  beneath  its  own  excess  of  life  ? 


Saturday. — Quitted  Geneva,  and  slept  at  St 
Maurice.  I  was  ill  during  the  last  few  days  of  our 
stay,  and  therefore  left  Geneva  with  the  less  regret. 
I  suffer  now  so  constantly,  that  a  day  tolerably  free 
from  pain  seems  a  blessing  for  which  I  can  scarctj 
be  sufficiently  thankful.     Such  was  yesterday. 

Our  road  lay  along  the  south  bank  of  the  lake, 


•  '•  Rousseau,  Voltaire,  our  Gibbon,  and  De  Stael, 
'H*man!  tJiose  names  are  worthy  of  thy  shore." 

Loud  Btbon. 


88  JOURNEY   TO    MILAN. 

through  Evian,  Thonon,  St.  Gingough  :  and  on  the 
opposite  shores  we  had  in  view  successively,  Lau- 
sanne, Vevai,  Clarens,  and  Chillon.  A  rain  storm 
pursued,  or  ahnost  surrounded  us  the  whole  morn- 
ing ;  but  we  had  the  good  fortune  to  escape  it. 
We  travelled  faster  than  it  could  pursue,  and  it 
seemed  to  retire  before  us  as  we  approached.  The 
eflect  was  surprisingly  beautiful ;  for  while  the  two 
extremities  of  the  lake  were  discolored  and  envel- 
oped in  gloom,  that  part  opposite  to  us  was  as  blue 
and  transparent  as  heaven  itself,  and  almost  as 
bright.  Over  Vevai,  as  we  viewed  it  from  La 
Meillerie,  rested  one  end  of  a  glorious  rainbow : 
the  other  extremity  appeared  to  touch  the  bosom 
of  the  lake,  and  shone  vividly  against  the  dark 
mountains  above  Chillon.  La  Meillerie — Vevai  ! 
what  magic  in  those  names  !  and  O  what  a  power 
has  genius  to  hallow  with  its  lovely  creations, 
scenes  already  so  lavishly  adorned  by  Nature  I  it 
was  not,  however,  of  St.  Preux  I  thought,  as  I 
passed  under  the  rock  of  the  Meillerie.  Ah  !  how 
much  of  happiness,  of  enjoyment,  have  I  lost,  in 
being  forced  to  struggle  against  my  feelings,  instead 
of  abandoning  myself  to  them  !  but  surely  I  have 
done  right.  Let  me  repeat  it  again  and  again  to 
myself,  and  let  that  thought,  if  possible,  strengthen 
and  console  me. 

Monday. — I  have  resolved  to  attempt  no  descrip- 
tion of  scenery ;  but  my  pen  is  fascinated.  I  must 
note  a  few  of  the  objects  which  struck  me  to-day 


JOURNEY   TO    MILAN.  39 

and  yesterday,  that  I  may  at  will  combine  them 
ne'-eafter  to  my  mind's  eye,  and  recall  the  glorious 
pictures  I  beheld,  as  we  travelled  through  the 
Vallais  to  Brig :  the  swollen  and  turbid,  (no  longer 
"  blue  and  arrowy  ")  Rhone,  rushing  and  roaring 
along ;  the  gigantic  mountains  in  all  their  endless 
variety  of  fantastic  forms,  which  enclosed  us  round, 
— their  summits  now  robed  in  curling  clouds,  and 
then,  as  the  winds  swept  them  aside,  glittering  in 
the  sunshine  ;  the  little  villages  j)erehed  like  eagles' 
nests  on  the  clilfs,  far,  far  above  our  heads;  the 
deep  rocky  channels  through  which  the  torrents 
had  madly  broken  a  way,  tearing  through  every 
obstacle  till  they  reached  the  Rhone,  and  marking 
their  course  with  devastation  ;  the  scene  of  direful 
ruin  at  Martigny ;  the  cataracts  gushing,  bounding 
from  the  living  rock  and  plunging  into  some  unseen 
abyss  below ;  even  the  shrubs  and  the  fruit-trees 
which  in  the  wider  parts  of  the  valley  bordered 
the  road  side  ;  the  vines,  the  rich  scarlet  barberries, 
the  apples  and  pears  which  we  might  have  gathered 
by  extending  our  hands ; — all  and  each,  "when  I 
recall  them,  will  rise  up  a  vivid  picture  before  my 
own  fancy  ; — but  never  could  be  truly  represented 
to  the  mind  of  another — at  least  through  the  me- 
dium of  words. 

And  yet,  with  all  its  wonders  and  beauties,  this 
day's  journey  has  not  enchanted  me  like  Satur- 
day's. The  scenery  then  had  a  different  species  of 
beauty,  a  deeper  interest — when  the  dark  blue  sky 


90  JOURNEY   TO   MILAN. 

was  above  our  heads,  and  the  transparent  lake 
shone  another  heaven  at  our  feet,  and  the  recollec- 
tion of  great  and  glorious  names,  and  visions  of 
poetic  fSincy,  and  ideal  forms  more  lovely  than 
ever  trod  this  earth,  hovered  around  us : — and 
then  those  thoughts  which  would  intrude — remem- 
brances of  the  far-off  absent,  who  are  or  have  been 
loved,  mingled  with  the  whole,  and  shed  an  imag- 
inary splendor  or  a  tender  interest,  over  scenes 
which  required  no  extraneous  powers  to  enhance 
their  native  loveliness, — no  chann  borrowed  from 
imagination  to  embellish  the  all-beautiful  reality. 

Duomo  d'Osso/a. — What  shall  I  say  of  the  mar- 
vellous, the  miraculous  Simplon  ?  Nothing  :  everj 
body  has  said  already,  every  thing  that  can  be  said 
and  exclaimed. 

In  our  descent,  as  the  valley  widened,  and  th« 
stern  terrific  features  of  the  scene  assumed  a  gen- 
tler character,  we  came  to  the  beautiful  village  of 
Davedro,  with  its  cottages  and  vineyards  spread 
over  a  green  slope,  between  the  mountains  and  the 
torrent  below.  This  lovely  nook  struck  me  the 
more  from  its  contrast  with  the  region  of  snows, 
clouds,  and  barren  rocks,  to  which  our  eyes  had 
been  for  several  hours  accustomed.  In  such  a  spot 
as  Davedro  I  fancied  I  should  wish  to  live,  could  I 
in  life  assemble  round  me  all  that  my  craving  heart 
and  boundless  spirit  desire ; — or  die,  when  life  ha'l 
exhausted  all  excitement,  and  the  subdued  and 
weary  soul  had  learned  to  be  content  with  repose ; 
— but  not  till  then. 


JOURNEY   TO   MILAX.  41 

"We  are  now  in  Italy  ;  but  have  not  jet  heard  the 
soft  sounds  of  the  Italian  language.  However,  Ave 
read  with  great  satisfaction  the  Italian  denomination 
of  our  Inn,  "  La  grande  Alberga  della  Villa" — 
called  out  "  Cameriere  !"  instead  of  "  Gar^on  !" — 
plucked  ripe  grapes  as  they  hung  from  the  treillages 
above  our  heads — gathered  green  figs  from  the 
trees,  bursting  and  luscious — panted  with  the  in- 
tense heat — intense  and  overpowering  from  its 
contrast  with  the  cold  of  the  Alpine  regions  we  had 
just  left — and  fancied  we  began  to  feel 

cette  vie  ennivrante, 


Que  le  soleil  du  sud  inspire  a  tous  les  sens. 

1 1  at  nigJtf. — Fatigue  and  excitement  have  lately- 
proved  too  much  for  me :  but  I  will  not  sink.  I 
will  yet  bear  up ;  and  when  a  day  thus  passed  amid 
scenes  like  those  of  romance,  amid  all  that  would 
once  have  charmed  my  imagination,  and  enchanted 
my  senses,  brings  no  real  pleasure,  but  is  ended,  as 
noto  it  ends,  in  tears,  in  bitterness  of  heart,  in  lan- 
guor, in  sickness,  and  in  pain— ah  !  let  me  remem- 
ber the  lesson  of  resignation  I  have  lately  learned 
and  by  elevating  my  thoughts  to  a  better  Avoi-ld, 
turn  to  look  upon  the  miserable  affections  which 
have  agitated  me  here  as * 

*  The  sentence  which  follows  is  so  blotted  as  to  be 
illegible. — Ed. 


42  JOURNEY   TO   MILAN. 

Could  I  but  become  as  insensible,  as  regardless 
of  the  painful  past  as  I  am  of  the  all  lovely  pres- 
ent !  Why  was  I  proud  of  my  victory  over  pas- 
sion ?  alas !  what  avails  it  that  I  have  shaken  the 
viper  from  my  hand,  if  I  have  no  miraculous  anti- 
dote against  the  venom  which  has  mingled  with  my 
life-blood,  and  clogged  the  pulses  of  my  heart !  But 
the  antidote  of  Paul — even  faith — may  it  not  be 
mine  if  I  duly  seek  it? 


Arona  on  the  Banks  of  the  Lago  JIaggiore. 

Rousseau  mentions  somewhere,  that  it  was  once 
his  intention  to  place  the  scene  of  the  Heloise  in 
the  Borromean  Islands.  What  a  French  idea*! 
How  strangely  incongruous  had  the  pastoral  sim- 
plicity of  his  lovers  app2ared  in  such  a  scene  !  It 
must  have  changed,  if  not  the  whole  plan,  at  least 
the  whole  coloring  of  the  tale.  Imagine  la  divine 
Julie  tripping  up  and  down  the  artificial  terraces 
of  the  Isola  Bella,  among  flower  pots  and  statues, 
and  coloni^ades  and  grottos ;  and  St.  Preux  sigh- 
ing towards  her,  from  some  trim  fantastic  wilder- 
ness In  the  Isola  Madre  ! 

The  day  was  heavenly,  and  I  shall  never  forget 
the  sunset,  as  we  viewed  it  reflected  in  the  lake, 
which  appeared  at  one  moment  an  expanse  of  liv- 
ing fire.  This  is  the  first  we  have  seen  of  those 
eiFulgent  sunsets  with  which  Italy  will  make  ua 
familiar. 


^t. 


MILAN.  ,;  (53  /,t,g«lfc,,  H 

Milan. — Our  journey  yesterday,  tlirongli  the  flat 
fertile  plains  of  Lombardy,  was  not  very  interest- 
ing; and  the  want  of  novelty  and  excitement  made 
it  fatiguing,  in  spite  of  the  matchless  roads  and  the 
celerity  with  which  we  travelled. 

Whatever  we  may  think  of  Napoleon  in  Eng- 
land, it  is  impossible  to  travel  on  the  continent,  and 
more  particularly  through  Lombardy,  without  being 
struck  with  the  magnificence  and  vastness  of  his 
public  Avorks — either  designed  or  executed.  He  is 
more  regretted  here  than  in  France ;  or  rather  he 
has  not  been  so  soon  banished  from  men's  minds. 
In  Italy  he  followed  the  rational  policy  of  de- 
pressing the  nobles,  and  providing  occupation  and 
amusement  for  the  lower  classes.  I  spoke  to-day 
with  an  intelligent  artisan,  who  pointed  out  to  us  a 
hall  built  near  the  public  walk  by  Napoleon,  for  the 
people  to  dance  and  assemble  in,  when  the  weather 
was  unfavorable.  The  man  concluded  some  very 
animated  and  sensible  remarks  on  tlie  late  events, 
by  adding  expressively,  that  though  many  had  been 
benefited  by  the  change,  there  was  to  him  and  all 
others  of  his  class  as  much  difference  between-  the 
late  reign  and  the  present,  as  between  I'or  et  lefer. 

The  silver  shrine  of  St.  Carlo  Borromeo,  with 
all  its  dazzling  waste  of  magnificence,  struck  me 
with  a  feeling  of  melancholy  and  indignation.  The 
gems  and  gold  which  lend  such  a  horrible  splen- 
dor to  corruption  ;  the  skeleton  head,  grinning 
ghastly  under  its  invaluable  coronet;  the  skeleton 


44  MILAN. 

hand  supporting  a  crozier  glittering  with  diamonds, 
appeared  so  frightful,  so  senseless  a  mockery  of  the 
excellent,  simple-minded,  and  benevolent  being 
they  were  intended  to  honor,  that  I  could  but 
wonder,  and  escape  from  the  sight  as  quickly  aa 
possible.  The  Duomo  is  on  the  whole  more  re- 
markable for  the  splendor  of  the  material,  than 
the  good  taste  with  which  it  is  employed :  the 
statues  which  adorn  it  inside  and  out,  ai-e  sufficient 
of  themselves  to  form  a  very  respectable  congre- 
gation :  they  are  four  thousand  in  number. 

Qth.  Tuesday. — We  gave  the  morning  to  the 
churches  and  the  evening  to  the  Ambrosian  library. 
The  day  was,  on  the  whole,  more  fatiguing  than 
edifying  or  amusing.  I  remarked  whatever  was  re- 
markable, admired  all  that  is  usually  admired,  but 
brought  away  few  impressions  of  novelty  or  pleas- 
ure. The  objects  which  principally  struck  my  ca- 
pricious and  fastidious  fancy,  were  precisely  those 
which  passed  unnoticed  by  every  one  else  :  and  are 
not  worth  recording.  In  the  first  church  we  vis- 
ited, I  saw  a  young  girl  respectably,  and  even  ele- 
gantly dressed,  in  the  beautiful  costume  of  the  Mi- 
lanese, who  was  kneeling  on  the  pavement  before 
&  crucifix,  weeping  bitterly,  and  at  the  same  time 
fanning  herself  most  vehemently  with  a  large  green 
fan.  Another  church,  (St.  Alessandro,  I  think,) 
was  oddly  decorated  for  a  Christian  temple.  A 
statue  of  Venus  stood  on  one  side  of  the  porch,  a 
statue  of  Hercules  on  the  other.     The  two  divini- 


MILAN.  45 

ties,  whose  attributes  could  not  be  mistaken,  Lad 
been  converled  I'rom  heathenism  into  two  very  re- 
Bpectable  saints.  I  forget  their  Christian  names 
Nor  is  this  the  most  amusing  metamorphosis  I  have 
seen  here.  The  transformation  of  two  heathen  di- 
vinities into  saints,  is  matched  by  the  apotheosis  of 
two  modern  sovereigns  into  pagan  deities.  On  the 
frieze  of  the  salle^  adjoining  tlie  Amphitheatre, 
there  is  a  head  of  2«fapoleon,  which,  by  the  addition 
of  a  beard,  has  been  converted  into  a  Jupiter ;  and 
on  the  opposite  side,  a  head  of  Josephine,  which, 
being  already  beautiful  and  dignified,  has  required 
no  alteration,  except  in  name,  to  become  a  credit- 
able Minerva. 

\Oth. — At  the  Brera,  now  called  the  "  Palace  of 
the  Arts  and  Sciences,"  we  spent  some  delightful 
hours.  There  is  a  numerous  collection  of  pictures 
by  Titian,  Guldo,  Albano,  Schidone,  the  three 
Carraccis,  Tintorretto,  Giorgione,  &c.  Some  old 
paintings  in  fresco  by  Luini  and  others  of  his  age, 
were  especially  pointed  out  to  us,  which  had  been 
cut  from  the  walls  of  churches  now  destroyed. 
They  are  preserved  here,  I  presume,  as  curiosi- 
ties, and  specimens  of  the  progress  of  the  arts,  for 
they  possess  no  other  merit — none,  at  least,  that  I 
could  discover.  Here  is  the  "  Marriage  of  the 
Virgin,"  by  Raffaelle,  of  which  I  had  often  heard. 
It  disappointed  me  at  the  first  glance,  but  charmed 
me  at  the  second,  and  enchanted  me  at  the  third. 
The  uno^'truisive  grace  and  simplicity  of  Raflaelle 


46 


do  not  immediately  strike  an  eye  so  unpractised, 
and  a  taste  so  unformed  as  mine  still  is  ;  for 
though  I  have  seen  the  best  pictures  in  England, 
we  have  there  no  opportunity  of  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  the  two  divinest  masters  of  the 
Italian  art,  RafFaelle  and  Correggio.  There  are 
not,  I  conceive,  half  a  dozen  of  either  in  all  the 
collections  together,  and  those  we  do  possess,  are 
far  from  being  among  their  best  efforts.  But 
Ratfaelle  must  not  make  me  forget  the  llagar  in 
the  Brera  :  the  affecting — the  inimitable  Hagar ! 
what  agony,  what  upbraiding,  what  love,  what 
helpless  desolation  of  heart  in  that  countenance ! 
I  may  well  remember  the  deep  pathos  of  this  pic- 
ture ;  for  the  face  of  Hagar  has  haunted  me  sleep- 
ing and  waking  ever  since  I  beheld  it.  Marvel- 
lous power  of  art !  that  mere  inanimate  forms, 
and  colors  compounded  of  gross  materials,  should 
thus  live— thus  speak — thus  stand  a  soul-felt  pres- 
ence before  us,  and  from  the  senseless  board  or 
canvas,  breathe  into  our  hearts  a  feeling,  beyond 
what  the  most  impassioned  eloquence  could  ever 
inspii'e — bejond  what  mere  words  can  ever  render. 

Last  night  and  the  preceding  we  spent  at  the 
Seala.  The  opera  was  stupid,  and  Madame  Bel- 
locchi,  who  is  the  present  prima  donna,  appeared 
to  me  harsh  and  ungraceful,  when  compared  to 
Fodor.  The  new  ballet,  however,  amply  indem* 
nified  us  for  the  disappointment. 

Our  ItaHan  friends  condoled  with  us  on  being 


47 


a  few  da/s  too  late  to  see  La  Vestale,  -wliicli  had 
been  performed  for  sixty  nights,  and  is  one  of 
Vigano's  masterpieces.  I  thought  the  Didone 
Abbandonata  left  us  nothing  to  regret.  The  im- 
mense size  of  the  stage,  the  splendid  scenery,  the 
classical  propriety  and  magnificence  of  the  dresses, 
the  fine  music,  and  the  exquisite  acting,  (for  there 
is  very  little  dancing,)  all  conspired  to  render  it 
enchaiating.  The  celebrated  cavern  scene,  in  the 
fourth  book  of  Virgil,  is  rather  too  closely  copied 
in  a  most  inimitable  pas  de  deux ;  so  closely,  in- 
deed, that  I  was  considerably  alarmed  pour  les 
hienseaiices :  but  little  Ascanius,  who  is  asleep  in 
a  corner,  (Heaven  knows  how  he  came  there,) 
wakes  at  the  critical  moment,  and  the  impending 
catastrophe  is  averted.  Such  a  scene,  however 
beautiful,  would  not,  I  think,  be  endured  on  the 
English  stage.  I  observed  that  when  it  began, 
the  curtains  in  front  of  the  boxes  were  withdrawn, 
the  whole  audience,  who  seemed  to  be  expecting 
it,  was  hushed ;  the  deepest  silence,  the  most  de- 
lighted attention  prevailed  during  its  performance  ; 
and  the  moment  it  was  over,  a  third  of  the  specta- 
tors departed.  1  am  told  this  is  always  the  case  ; 
and  that  in  almost  every  ballet  d'action,  the  public 
are  gratified  by  a  scene,  or  scenes,  of  a  similar  ten- 
dency. 

The  second  time  I  saw  the  Didone,  my  atten- 
tion, in  spite  of  the  fascination  of  the  scene,  was 
attracted  towards  a  box  near  us,  which  was  occu« 


48 


pied  by  a  noble  English  family  just  arrived  at 
Milan.  In  the  front  of  the  box  sat  a  beautiful 
girl,  apparently  not  fifteen,  with  laughing  lips  and 
dimpled  cheeks,  the  very  personification  of  bloom- 
ing, innocent,  EnrjUi^h  loveliness.  I  watched  her 
(I  could  not  help  it,  when  my  interest  was  once 
awakened,)  through  the  whole  scene.  I  marked 
her  increased  agitation :  I  saw  her  cheeks  flush, 
her  eyes  glisten,  her  bosom  flutter,  as  if  with  sighs 
I  could  not  overhear,  till  at  length  overpowered 
with  emotion,  she  turned  away  her  head,  and 
covered  her  eyes  with  her  hand.  Mothers ! — 
English  mothers !  wjio  bring  your  daughters 
abroad  to  finish  their  education — do  ye  well  to  ex- 
pose them  to  scenes  like  these,  and /orce  the  young 
bud  of  early  feeling  in  such  a  precious  hot-bed  as 

this  ? Can  a  finer  finger  on  the  piano, — a  finer 

taste  in  painting,  or  any  possible  improvement  in 
foreign  arts,  and  foreign  graces,  compensate  for 
one  taint  on  that  moral  purity,  which  has  ever 
been  (and  may  it  ever  be  !)  the  boast,  the  charm 
of  Englishwomen  ?  But  what  have  I  to  do  with 
all  this  ? — I  came  here  to  be  amused  and  to  forget : 
— not  to  moralize,  or  to  criticize. 

Vigano,  who  is  lately  dead,  composed  the 
Dlilone  Ahbandonata,  as  well  as  La  Vestale, 
Gtcilo,  Nina,  and  others.  All  his  ballets  are  cel- 
ebrated for  their  classical  beauty  and  interest. 
This  man,  though  but  a  dancing-master,  must 
liave  had  the  soul  of  a  painter,  a  musician,  and  a 


49 


poet  in  one.  He 'must  have  been  a  perfect  master 
of  desi;jn,  grouping,  conti'ast,  picturesque,  and 
scenic  effect.  He  must  have  had  the  most  exquis- 
ite feeling  for  musical  expression,  to  adapt  it  so 
admirably  to  his  purposes  ;  and  those  gestures 
and  movements  with  which  he  has  so  gracefully 
combined  it,  and  which  address  themselves  but  too 
powerfully  to  the  senses  and  the  imagination — 
what  are  they,  but  the  very  "  poetry  of  motion," 
la  poesie  mixe  en  action,  rendering  words  a  super- 
fluous and  feeble  medium  in  comparison  ? 

I  saw  at  the  mint  yesterday  the  medal  struck 
in  honor  of  Vigano,  bearing  his  head  on  one  side, 
and  on  the  other,  Prometheus  chained  ;  to  com- 
memorate his  famous  ballet  of  that  name.  One  of 
these  medals,  struck  in  gold,  was  presented  to  hira 
in  the  name  of  the  government : — a  singular  dis- 
tinction for  a  dancing-master  ; — but  Vigano  was  a 
dancing-master  of  geniua :  and  this  is  the  land 
where  genius  in  every  shape  is  deified. 

The  enchanting  music  of  the  Prometteo  l)y 
Beethoven,  is  well  known  in  England,  but  to  pro- 
duce the  ballet  on  our  stage,  as  it  was  exhibited 
here,  would  be  impossible.  The  entire  tribe  of 
our  dancers  and  figurantes,  with  their  jumpings, 
twirlings,  quiverings,  and  pirouettings,  must  be 
first  annihilated  ;  and  Vigano,  or  Didelot,  or  No- 
verre  rise  again  to  inform  the  whole  corps  de  ballet 
with  another  soul  and  the  whole  audience  with 

another  spirit : — for 
4 


00 


— '  Poiche  paga  il  volgo  sciocco,  6  giusto 
Scioccamente  '  ballar  '  per  dargli  gusto." 

The  Theatre  of  the  Scala,  notwithstandinfj  the 
vastness  of  my  expectations,  did  not  disappoint 
me.  I  heard  it  criticized  as  being  dark  and 
gloomy ;  for  only  the  stage  is  illuminated :  but 
when  1  remember  how  often  I  have  left  our 
English  theatres  with  dazzled  eyes  and  aching 
head, — distracted  by  the  multiplicity  of  objects 
and  faces,  and  "  blasted  with  excess  of  light," — I 
feel  reconciled  to  this  peculiarity  ;  more  especially 
as  it  heightens  beyond  measure  the  splendor  of 
the  stage  effect. 

We  have  the  Countess  Bubna's  box  while  we 
are  here.  She  scarcely  ever  goes  herself,  being 
obliged  to  hold  a  sort  of  military  drawing-room 
almost  every  evening.  Her  husband.  General 
Bubna,  has  the  command  of  the  Austrian  forces 
in  the  north  of  Italy  :  and  though  the  Archduke 
Reinier  is  nominal  viceroy,  all  real  power  seems 
lodged  in  Bubna's  hands.  He  it  was  who  sup- 
pressed the  insurrection  in  Piedmont  during  the 
last  struggle  for  liberty  :  'twas  his  vocation — 
more  the  pity.  Eight  hundred  of  the  Milanese,  at 
the  head  of  them  Count  Melzi,  were  connected 
with  the  Carbonari  and  the  Piedmontese  insur- 
gents. On  Count  Bubna's  return  from  his  expe- 
dition, a  list  of  these  malcontents  being  sent  to 
him  by  the  police,  he  refused  even  to  look  at  it, 


51 


and  merely  saying  that  it  was  tlie  business  of  the 
police  to  surveiller  those  persons,  but  he  must  be 
allowed  to  be  ignorant  of  their  names,  publicly 
tore  the  paper.  The  same  night  he  visited  the 
theatre,  accompanied  by  Count  Melzi,  was  re- 
ceived with  acclamations,  and  has  since  been  de- 
servedly popular. 

Bubna  is  a  heavy  gross-looking  man,  a  victim  to 
the  gout,  and  witli  notliing  martial  or  captivating 
in  his  exterior.  He  has  talents,  however,  and 
those  not  only  of  a  military  cast.  lie  was  gener- 
ally employed  to  arrange  the  affairs  of  the  Emperor 
of  Austria  Avith  Napoleon.  His  loyalty  to  his  own 
sovereign,  and  the  soldier-like  frankness  and  integ- 
rity of  his  character,  gained  him  the  esteem  of  the 
French  emperor ;  who,  when  any  difficulties  oc- 
curred in  their  arrangements,  used  to  say  impa- 
tiently— "  Envoyez-moi  done  Bubna  !  " 

The  count  is  of  an  illustrious  family  of  Alsace, 
which  removed  to  Bohemia  wlien  that  province 
was  ceded  to  France.  He  had  nearly  ruined  him- 
self by  gambling,  when  the  emperor  (so  it  is  said) 
advised  him,  or,  in  other  words,  commanded  him 
to  marry  the  daughter  of  one  Arnvelt  or  Arnfeldt, 
a  baptized  Jew,  who  had  been  servant  to  a  Jewish 
banker  at  Vienna  ;  and  on  his  death  left  a  million 
of  florins  to  each  of  his  daughters.  He  was  a 
man  of  the  lowest  extraction,  and  without  any 
education  ;  but  having  sense  enough  to  feel  its  ad- 
vantiiges,   he   gave   a   most    brilliant   one    to   hia 


02  MILAN. 

daugTiters.  The  Countess  Bubna  Is  an  elegant, 
an  accomplished,  and  has  the  character  of  being 
also  an  amiable  woman.  She  is  here  a  person  of 
the  very  first  consequence,  the  wife  of  the  arch- 
iluke  alone  taking  precedence  of  her.  Apropos  of 
the  viceroy,  when  on  the  Corso  to-day  with  the 
Countess  Bubna,  we  met  him  with  the  vice-queen, 
as  she  is  styled  here,  walking  in  public.  The 
archduke  has  not  (as  the  countess  observed)  la 
plus  jolie  tournure  du  nmnde ;  his  appearance  is 
heavy,  awkward,  and  slovenly,  with  more  than  the 
usual  Austrian  stupidity  of  countenance  :  a  com- 
plete tesla  tedesca.  His  beautiful  wife,  the  Prin- 
cess Maria  of  Savoy,  to  whom  he  has  been  married 
oidy  a  few  months,  held  his  arm ;  and  as  she 
moved  a  little  in  front,  seemed  to  drag  him  after 
her  like  a  mere  appendage  to  her  state.  I  gazed 
after  them,  amused  by  the  contrast:  he  looking 
like  a  dull,  stiff,  old  bachelor,  the  very  figure  of 
Moody  in  the  Country  Girl ; — she,  an  elegant, 
sprightly,  captivating  creature ;  decision  in  her 
step,  laughter  on  her  lips,  and  pride,  intelligence, 
and  mischief  in  her  brilliant  eyes. 

^  4^  7^  ^  ^ 

We  visited  yesterday  the  military  college  found- 
ed by  the  viceroy,  Eugene  Beauharnoss,  for  the 
children  of  soldiers  who  had  fallen  in  battle.  The 
original  design  is  now  altered  ;  and  it  has  become 
a  mere  public  school,  to  which  any  boys  may  be 
admitted,  paying  a  certain  sum  a  year.     We  went 


53 


over  the  wliole  ouilding,  and  afterwards  saw  the 
scholars,  two  hundred  and  eighty  in  number, 
sit  down  to  dinner.  Every  thing  appeared  nice, 
clean,  and  admirably  ordered.  At  the  mint, 
which  interested  me  extremely,  we  found  them 
coining  silver  crowns  for  the  Levant  trade,  with 
the  head  of  Maria  Theresa,  and  the  date  1780. 
We  were  also  shown  the  beautifully  engiaved  die 
for  the  medal  which  the  university  of  Padua  pre- 
sented to  Belzoni. 

The  evening  was  spent  at  the  Teatro  Re,  where 
we  saw  a  bad  sentimental  comedy  (una  Conmiedia 
di  Caraterre)  exceedingly  well  acted.  One  actor, 
I  thought  almost  equal  to  Dowton,  in  his  own 
style  ; — we  had  afterwards  some  fine  music.  Some 
of  the  Milanese  airs,  which  the  itinerant  musicians 
give  us,  have  considerable  beauty  and  character. 
There  is  less  monotony,  I  think,  in  their  general 
style  than  in  the  Venetian  music  ;  and  perhaps 
less  sentiment,  less  softness.  When  left  alone  to- 
night, to  do  penance  on  the  sofa,  for  my  late 
■walks,  and  recruit  for  our  journey  to-morrow. — I 
tried  to  adapt  English  verses  to  one  or  two  very 
pretty  airs  which  Annoni  brought  me  to-day,  with- 
out the  Italian  words  ;  but  it  is  a  most  difficult  and 
invidious  task.  Even  Moore,  with  his  unequalled 
command  over  the  lyric  harmonies  of  our  lan- 
guage, cannot  perfectly  satisfy  ears  accustomed  to 
the 

"  Linked  sweetuess  loii":  da-awn  out  " 


of  the  Italian  vowels,  combined  witli  musical 
sounds  :  fancy  such  dissonant  syllables  as  ex,  pray, 
what,  breaks,  strength,  uttered  in  minim  time, — 
hissing  and  grating  through  half  a  bar,  instead  of 
the  dulcet  anima  mia,  Catina  amabile — Caro  mio 
tesoro,  &c. 

STANZAS  FOR   MUSIC. 

All  that  it  hoped 

Jly  heart  believed, 
And  when  most  trasting, 

Was  most  deceived. 

A  shadow  hath  fallen 

O'er  my  young  years ; 
And  hopes  when  brightest. 

Were  quench' d  in  tears. 

I  make  no  plaint — 

I  breathe  no  sigh — 
My  lips  can  smUe, 

And  mine  eyes  are  dry. 

I  a«k  no  pity, 

I  hope  no  cure — 
The  heart,  tho'  broken, 

Can  live,  and  endure ! 

We  left  Milan  two  days  ago,  and  arrived  early 
the  same  day  at  Brescia  :  there  is,  I  believe,  very 
little  to  see  there,  and  of  that  little,  I  saw  notUng, 
• — being  too  ill  and  too  low  for  the  slightest  exer- 


5d 


tion.  The  only  pleasurable  feeling  I  can  remem- 
ber was  excited  by  our  approach  to  the  Alps,  aftei 
traversing  the  flat,  fertile,  uninteresting  plains  of 
Lombardy.  The  peculiar  sensation  of  elevation 
and  delight,  inspired  by  mountain  scenery,  can 
only  be  understood  by  those  who  have  felt  it:  at 
least  I  never  had  formed  an  idea  of  it  till  I  found 
myself  ascending  the  Jura. 

But  Brescia  ought  to  be  immortalized  in  the 
history  of  our  travels  :  for  there,  stalking  down 
the  Corso — le  nez  en  I'air — we  met  our  acquaint- 
ance L ,  from  whom  we  had  parted  last  on 

the  pave  of  Piccadilly.  I  remember  that  in  Lon- 
don I  used  to  think  him  not  remarkable  for  wis- 
dom,— and  his  travels  have  infinitely  improved 
him — in  folly.  He  boasted  to  us  triumphantly 
that  he  had  run  over  sixteen  thousand  miles  in 
sixteen  months  :  that  he  had  bowed  at  the  lev6e 
of  the  Emperor  Alexander, — been  slapped  on  the 
shoulder  by  the  Archduke  Constantine, — shaken 
hands  with  a  Lapland  witch,— and  been  presented 
in  full  volunteer  uniform  at  every  court  between 
Stockholm  and  Milan.  Yet  is  he  not  one  particle 
wiser  than  if  he  had  spent  the  same  time  in  walk- 
ing up  an(f  down  the  Strand  He  has  contrived, 
however,  to  pick  up  on  his  tour,  strange  odds  and 
ends  of  foreign  follies,  which  stick  upon  the  coarse- 
grained materials  of  his  own  John  Bull  character 
like  tinfoil  upon  sackcloth ;  so  that  I  see  li*,tle  dif- 
ference  between   what  he   was,  and  what    he   is, 


56  I.AGO   DI   GARDA. 

except  tliat,  from  a  simple  goose, — he  has  become  a 

compound  one.      With   all   this,  L is  not 

unbearable — not  i/et  at  least.  He  amuses  others  as 
a  butt — and  me  as  a  specimen  of  a  new  genus  of 
fools :  for  his  folly  is  not  like  any  thing  one  usually 
meets  with.  It  is  not,  par  exemple,  the  folly  of 
stupidity,  for  he  talks  much  ;  nor  of  dulness,  for 
he  laughs  much ;  nor  of  ignorance,  for  he  has 
seen  much ;  nor  of  wrong-headedness,  for  he 
can  be  guided  right ;  nor  of  bad-hearted ness,  for 
he  is  good-natured  ;  nor  of  thoughtlessness,  for  he 
is  prudent ;  nor  of  extravagance,  for  he  can  calcu- 
late even  to  the  value  of  half  a  lira ;  but  it  is  an 
essence  of  folly,  peculiar  to  himself,  and  like  Mon- 
sieur Jaques's  melancholy,  "compounded  of  many 
simples,  extracted  from  various  objects,  and  the  sun- 
dry contemplation  of  his  travels."    So  much,  for  the 

present,  of  our  friend  L . 

We  left  Brescia  early  yesterday  morning,  and 
after  passing  Desenzano,  came  in  sight  of  the  Lago 
di  Garda.  I  had  from  early  associations  a  de- 
lightful impression  of  the  beauty  of  this  lalce,  and 
it  did  not  disappoint  me.  It  is  far  superior,  1 
think,  to  the  Lago  Maggiore,  because  the  scenery 
is  more  resserre,  lies  in  a  smaller  compass,  so 
that  the  eye  takes  in  the  separate  features  more 
easily.  The  mountains  to  the  north  are  dark, 
broken  and  wild  in  their  forms,  and  their  bases 
seemed  to  extend  to  the  water  edge :  the  hills  to 
the   south  are  smiling,   beautiful,   and  cultivated, 


LAGO   DI   GARDA.  57 

stuiJiled  with  white  flat-roofed  buildings,  which 
glitter  one  above  another  in  the  sunshine.  Our 
drive  along  the  promontory  of  Sirmione,  to  visit 
the  ruins  of  the  Villa  of  Catullus,  was  delightful. 
The  fresh  breeze  which  ruffled  the  dark  blue 
lake,  revived  my  spirits,  and  chased  away  my 
head-ache.  I  was  inclined  to  be  enchanted  with 
all  I  saw ;  and  when  our  guide  took  us  into  an 
old  cellar  choked  with  rubbish,  and  assured  us 
gi-avely  that  it  was  the  very  spot  in  which  Catul- 
lus had  written  his  Odes  to  Lesbia,  I  did  not 
laugh  in  his  face ;  for,  after  all,  it  would  be  as 
easy  to  prove  that  it  is,  as  that  it  is  not.  The  old 
town  and  castle  of  Sirmio  are  singularly  pictu- 
I'esque,  whether  viewed  from  above  or  below  ;  and 
the  grove  of  olives  which  crowned  the  steep  ex- 
tremity of  the  promontory,  interested  us,  being  the 
first  we  had  seen  in  Italy :  on  the  whole-I  fully  en- 
joyed the  early  part  of  tliis  day. 

At   Peschiera,   which   is   strongly   fortified,  we 
crossed  the  IMincio. — 

0  fountain  Ai-ethuse,  and  thou  honored  fiood, 
Smooth  flowing  Miaicius  crowned  with  vocal  reeds. 

Its  waters  were  exquisitely  transparent ;  but  it 
was  difficult  to  remember  its  poetical  pretensions, 
in  sight  of  those  odious  barracks  and  batteries 
The  reeds  mentioned  by  Virgil  and  Milton  still 
flourish    upon  its  banks,  and  I  foi'gave  them  foi 


spoiling  in  some  degree  the  beauty  of  the  shore, 
■when  I  thought  of  Adelaide  of  Burgundy,  who 
concealed  herself  among  them  for  three  days, 
when  she  fled  from  the  dungeon  of  Peschiera  to 
the  arms  of  her  lover.  I  was  glad  I  had  read  her 
story  in  Gibbon,  since  it  enabled  me  to  add  to  clas- 
sical and  poetical  associations,  an  interest  at  once 
romantic  and  real. 

The  rest  to-morrow — for  I  can  write  no  more. 

At  Verona,  Oct.  20. 
I  had  just  written  the  above  when  I  was 
startled  by  a  mournful  strain  from  a  chorus  of 
voices,  raised  at  intervals,  and  approaching  grad- 
ually nearer.  I  Avalked  to  the  window,  and  saw  a 
long  funeral  j^rocession  just  entering  the  church, 
which  is  opposite  to  the  door  of  our  inn.  I  imme- 
diately threw  over  me  a  veil  and  shawl,  followed  it, 
and  stood  by  while  the  service  was  chaunted  over 
the  dead.  The  scene,  as  viewed  by  the  light  of 
about  two  hundred  tapers,  which  were  carried  by 
the  assistants,  was  as  new  to  me  as  it  was  solemn 
and  striking :  but  it  was  succeeded  by  a  strange 
and  forlorn  contrast.  The  moment  the  service  was 
over,  the  tapers  were  suddenly  extinguished  ;  the 
priests  and  the  relatives  all  disappeared  in  an  in- 
conceivably short  time,  and  before  I  was  quite 
aware  of  what  was  going  forward :  the  coffin, 
stripped  of  Its  embroidered  pall  and  garlands  of 
flowers,   appeared  a  mere  chest  of  deal  boards, 


59 


roughly  nailed  together  ;  and  was  left  standing  on 
tressels,  bare,  neglected,  and  forsaken  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  church.  I  approached  it  almost  fearfully, 
and  with  a  deeper  emotion  than  I  believed  such  a 
thing  could  now  excite  Avithin  me.  And  here, 
thouTht  I,  rests  the  liuman  being,  who  has  lived  and 
loved,  suifered  and  enjoyed,  and,  if  I  may  judge 
by  the  splendor  of  his  funeral  rites,  has  been  hon- 
ored, served,  flattered  while  living  : — and  now  not 
one  remains  to  shed  a  last  tear  over  the  dead,  but  a 
single  stranger,  a  wanderer  from  a  land  he  perhaps 
knew  not :  to  whom  his  very  name  is  unknown  ! 
And  while  thus  I  moralized,  two  sextons  appeai-ed  ; 
and  one  of  them  seizing  the  miserable  and  deserted 
coffin,  rudely  and  unceremoniously  flung  it  on  his 
shoulders,  and  vanished  through  a  vaulted  door : 
and  1  returned  to  my  room,  to  write  this,  and  to 
think  how  much  better,  how  much  more  humo.nely, 
we  manage  these  things  in  our  own  England. 

Oct.  21. — Verona  is  a  clean  and  quiet  place,  con- 
taining some  fine  edifices  by  Palladio  and  his  pupils. 
ITie  principal  object  of  interest  is  the  ancient  am- 
phitheatre ;  the  most  perfect  I  believe  in  Italy. 
The  inner  circle,  with  all  its  ranges  of  seats,  is  en- 
tire. We  ascended  to  the  top,  and  looked  down 
into  the  Piazza  d'arme,  where  several  battalions  of 
Austrian  soldiers  were  exercising ;  their  arms  glit- 
tering splendidly  in  the  morning  sun.  As  I  have 
now  been  long  enough  in  Italy  to  sympathize  in 
the  national  hatred  of  the  Austrians,  I  turned  from 


60 


the  siglit,  resolved  not  to  be  pleased.  The  arena  of 
the  amphitheatre  is  smaller,  and  less  oval  in  form 
than  I  had  expected :  and  in  the  centre  there  is  a 
little  paltry  gaudy  Tvooden  theatre  for  puppets  and 
tumblers, — forming  a  grotesque  contrast  to  the 
massive  and  majestic  architecture  around  it:  but 
even  tumblers  and  puppets,  as  Rospo  observed,  are 
better  than  wild  beasts  and  ferocious  gladiators. 

There  is  also  at  Verona  a  triumphal  arch  to  the 
Emperor  Gallienus ;  the  architecture  and  inscrip- 
tion almost  as  perfect  as  if  erected  yesterday ; — 
and  a  most  singular  bridge  of  three  irregular  arches, 
built,  I  beheve,  by  the  Scaligieri  family,  who  were 
once  princes  of  Verona. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  story  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet  is  here  regarded  as  a  traditionary  and  indis- 
putable fact,  and  the  tomb  of  Juliet  is  shown  in  a 
garden  near  the  town.  So  much  has  been  written 
and  said  on  this  subject,  I  can  add  only  one  observa- 
tion. To  the  reality  of  the  story  it  has  been  ob- 
jected that  the  oldest  narrator,  Masuccio,  relates  it 
as  having  happened  at  Sienna  :  but  might  he  not 
have  heard  the  tradition  at  Verona,  and  transferred 
the  scene  to  Sienna,  since  he  represented  it  as 
related  by  a  Siennese  ? — Delia  Corte,  whose  history 
of  Verona  I  have  just  laid  down,  mentions  It  as  a 
real  historical  event ;  and  Louis  da  Porta,  in  his 
beautiful  novel,  la  Giulietta,  expressly  asserts  that 
he  has  written  it  down  from  tradition.  If  Shaks- 
peare,  as  it  is  said,  never  saw  the   novel  of  Da 


PADUA,  61 

Porta,  how  came  lie  by  the  names  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  the  Montagues  and  the  Capulets  :  if  he  did 
meet  with  it,  how  came  he  to  depart  so  essentially 
from  the  story,  particularly  in  the  catastrophe  ?  I 
must  get  some  books,  if  possible,  to  clear  up  these 
difficulties. 

23f/,  at  Padua. — We  spent  yesterday  morning 
pleasantly  at  Vicenza.  Palladio's  edifices  in  general 
disappointed  me  ;  partly  because  I  am  not  architect 
enough  to  judge  of  their  merits,  partly  because,  of 
most  of  them,  th&  situation  is  bad,  and  the  materials 
paltry  ;  but  the  Olympic  theatre,  although  its  solid 
perspective  be  a  mere  trick  of  the  art,  surprised 
and  pleased  me.  It  has  an  air  of  antique  and 
classic  elegance  in  its  decorations,  which  is  very 
striking.  I  have  heard  it  criticized  as  a  specimen 
of  bad  taste  and  trickery  :  but  why  should  its  solid 
scenery  be  considered  more  a  trick,  and  in  bad 
taste,  than  a  curtain  of  painted  canvas  ?  In  both 
a  deception  is  practised  and  intended.  We  saw 
many  things  in  Vicenza  and  its  neighbourhood, 
which  I  have  not  time,  nor  spirits,  to  dwell  upon. 

We  arrived  here  (at  Padua)  last  night,  and  to- 
day I  am  again  ill :  unable  to  see  or  even  to  wish  to 
see  any  thing.  My  eyes  are  so  full  of  tears  that  I 
can  scarcely  write.  I  must  lay  down  my  pencil, 
lest  T  break  through  my  resolution,  and  be  tempted 
to  record  feelings  I  afterwards  tremble  to  see  writ- 
ten down. — O  bitter  and  too  lasting  remembrance  ! 
I  must  sleep  it  away — even  the  heavy  and  drug- 


62  VENICE. 

bought  sleep  to  which  I  am  now  reduced,  is  better 
than  such  waking  moments  as  these. 

Venice,  October  25th. 

I  feel,  while  I  gaze  round  me,  as  if  I  had  seen 
Venice  in  my  dreams — as  if  it  were  itself  the 
vision  of  a  dream.  We  have  been  here  two  days ; 
and  I  have  not  yet  recovered  from  my  first  sur- 
prise. All  is  yet  enchantment :  all  is  novel,  ex- 
traordinary, affecting  from  the  many  associations 
and  remembrances  excited  in  the  mind.  Pleasure 
and  wonder  are  tinged  with  a  melancholy  interest ; 
and  while  the  imagination  is  excited,  the  spirits  are 
depressed. 

The  morning  we  left  Padua  was  bright,  lovely, 
and  cloudless.  Our  drive  along  the  shores  of  the 
Brenta,  crowned  with  innumerable  villas  and  gay 
gardens,  was  delightful ;  and  the  moment  of  our 
arrival  at  Fusina,  where  we  left  our  carriages  to 
embark  in  gondolas,  was  the  most  auspicious  that 
could  possibly  have  been  chosen.  It  was  about 
four  o'clock:  the  sun  was  just  declining  towards 
the  west :  the  whole  surface  of  the  lagune,  smooth 
as  a  mirror,  appeared  as  if  paved  with  fire  ; — and 
Venice,  with  her  towers  and  domes,  indistinctly 
glittering  in  the  distance,  rose  before  us  like  a 
gorgeous  exhalation  from  the  bosom  of  the  ocean. 
It  is  farther  from  the  shore  than  I  expected.  As 
we  approached,  the  splendor  faded  :    but  the  in- 


G3 


terest  and  the  -wonder  grew.  I  can  conceive  noth- 
ing more  beautiful,  more  singular,  more  astonish- 
ing, than  the  first  appearance  of  Venice,  and  sad 
indeed  "will  be  the  hour  when  she  sinks  (as  the 
poet  prophesies)  "  into  the  slime  of  her  own 
canals." 

The  moment  we  had  disembarked  our  luggage 
at  the  inn,  we  hired  gondolas  and  rowed  to  the 
Piazzi  di  San  Marco.  Had  I  seen  the  church  of 
St.  ^lark  any  where  else,  I  should  have  exclaimed 
igainst  the  bad  taste  which  every  whei'e  prevails 
in  it :  but  Venice  is  the  proper  region  of  the  fan- 
tiistic,  and  the  church  of  St.  Mark — with  its  four 
hundred  pillars  of  every  different  order,  color, 
and  matei-ial,  its  onental  cupolas,  and  glittering 
vanes,  and  gilding  and  mosaics — assimilates  with 
all  around  it :  and  the  kind  of  pleasure  it  gives  is 
suitable  to  the  place  and  the  people. 

After  dinner  I  had  a  chair  placed  on  the  bal- 
cony of  our  inn,  and  sat  for  some  time  contem- 
plating a  scene  altogether  new  and  delightfuL 
The  ai-ch  of  the  Rialto  just  gleamed  through  the 
de(!pening  twilight ;  long  lines  ol'  palaces,  at  first 
partially  illuuiinated,  faded  away  at  length  into 
gkomy  and  formless  masses  of  architecture  ;  the 
gondolas  glided  to  and  fro,  their  glancing  lights 
reflected  on  the  water.  There  was  a  stillness  all 
around  me,  solemn  and  strange  in  the  heart  of  a 
great  city.  No  rattling  carriages  shook  the  streets, 
no  trampling  of  horses  echoed  along  the  pavement : 


64 


the  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  melancholy  erj 
of  the  gondoliers,  and  the  dash  of  their  oars ;  by 
the  low  murmur  of  human  voices,  by  the  chime  of 
the  vesper  bells,  born  over  the  water,  and  the 
sounds  of  music  raised  at  intervals  along  the 
canals.  The  poetry,  the  romance  of  the  scene 
stole  upon  me  unawares.  I  fell  into  a  reverie,  in 
which  visionary  forms  and  recollections  gave  way 
to  dearer  and  sadder  realities,  and  my  mind  seemed 
no  longer  in  my  own  power.  I  called  upon  the 
lost,  the  absent,  to  share  the  present  with  me— I 
called  upon  past  feelings  to  enhance  that  moment's 
delight.  I  did  wrong — and  memory  avenged  her- 
self as  usual.  I  quitted'  my  seat  on  the  balcony, 
with  despair  at  my  heart,  and  drawing  to  the  table, 
took  out  my  books  and  work.  So  passed  our  first 
evening  at  Venice. 

Yesterday  we  visited  the  Accademia,  where  there 
are  some  fine  pictures.  The  famous  Assumption 
by  Titian  is  here,  and  first  made  me  feel  what  con- 
noisseurs mean  when  they  talk  of  the  carnations 
and  draperies  of  Titian.  We  were  shown  two 
designs  for  monuments  to  the  memory  of  Titian, 
modelled  by  Canova.  Neither  of  them  has  been 
erected  ;  but  the  most  beautiful,  with  a  little  alter- 
ation, and  the  substitution  of  a  lady's  bust  for 
Titian's  venerable  head,  has  been  dedicated,  I 
believe,  to  the  memory  of  the  Archduchess  Chris- 
tina of  Austria.  I  remember  also  an  exquisite 
Canaletti,  quite  different  in  style  and  subject  from 
any  picture  of  this  master  I  ever  saw. 


VENICE.  C5 

We  then  rowed  to  the  ducal  palare.  The  coun- 
cil chamber  (I  thought  of  Othello  as  I  entered  it) 
is  now  converted  into  a  library.  The  walls  are 
decorated  with  the  history  of  Pope  Ale.xander  the 
Third,  and  Frederic  Barbarossa,  painted  by  the 
Tintoretti,  father  and  son,  Paul  Veronese  and 
Palma.  Above  them,  in  compartments,  hang  the 
portraits  of  the  Doges ;  among  which  Marino  Fa- 
liero  is  7iot ;  but  his  name  only,  Inscribed  on  a  kind 
of  black  paU.  The  Ganymede  is  a  most  extpilslte 
little .  group,  attributed  to  the  age  of  Praxiteles  ; 
and  not  without  reason  even  to  the  hand  of  that 
sculptor. 

To-day  we  visited  several  churches — rich,  on  the 
outside,  with  all  the  luxury  of  architecture, — with- 
inslde,  gorgeous  with  painting,  sculpture,  and  many- 
colored  marbles.  The  prodigality  with  which  the 
most  splendid  and  costly  materials  are  lavished 
here  is  perfectly  amazing :  pillars  of  lapis-lazuli, 
columns  of  Egyptian  porphyry,  and  pavements  of 
mosaic,  altars  of  alabaster  ascended  by  steps  in- 
crusted  with  agate  and  jasper  : — but  to  particular- 
ize would  be  in  vain.  I  will  only  mention  three 
or  four  which  I  wish  to  recollect :  the  Church  of 
the  Madonna  della  Salute,  so  called  because  erect- 
ed to  the  Virgin  in  gratitude  for  the  deliverance 
of  the  city  from  a  pestilence,  which  she  miraculous- 
ly drove  into  the  Adriatic.  It  is  remarkable  for 
its  splendid  pictures,  most  of  them  by  Luca  Gior- 
dano ;  and  the  superb  high  altar.  I  think  it  was 
6 


66 


the  Church  of  the  Gesuata  which  astonished  us 
most.  The  whole  of  the  inside  walls  and  columns 
are  encrusted  with  Carrara  marble  inlaid  with  verd- 
antique,  in  a  kind  of  damask  pattern ;  over  the 
pulpit  it  fell  like  drapery,  so  easy,  so  graceful,  so 
exquisitely  imitated,  that  I  was  obliged  to  touch  it 
to  assure  myself  of  the  material.  Then  by  way  of 
contrast  followed  the  Church  of  San  Giorgio  Mag- 
giore, — one  of  Palladio's  masterpieces.  After  the 
dazzling  and  gorgeous  buildings  we  had  left,  its 
beautiful  simplicity  and  correct  taste  struck  me  at 
first  with  an  impression  of  poverty  and  coldness. 
At  the  Church  of  St.  John  and  St.  Paul  is  the 
famous  martyrdom,  or  rather  assassination,  of  St. 
Peter  Martyr,  by  Titian,  one  of  the  most  magical 
pictures  in  the  world.  Its  tragic  horror  is  redeem- 
ed by  its  sublimity.  Here  too  is  a  most  admirable 
series  of  bas-reliefs  in  white  marble,  representing 
the  history  of  our  Saviour,  the  work  of  a  modern 
sculptor.  Here  too  the  Doges  are  buried ;  and 
close  to  the  Church  is  the  equestrian  statue  of  one 
of  the  Falieri  family  :  near  wliich  Marino  Faliero 
met  the  conspirators. 

At   the    Frati  is  the  grave  of  Titian  :  a  small 
square  slab  covers  him,  with  this  inscription  : — 

Qui  giace  il  gi-an  Tizia!no  Vecelli. 
Emulator  dei  Zeusi  e  degli  Apelli. 

there  is  no  monument : — and  there  needs  none. 

It  was,  I  think,  in  the  Church  of  St.  John  and 
St.  Paul,  that  I  saw  a  singular  and  beautiful  altar 


VEXICE.  67 

of  black  touch-stone,  used  when  mass  Is  said  for 
the  soul  of  an  executed  criminal. 

This  Is  all  I  can  remember  of  to-day.  1  am 
fatigued,  and  my  head  aches  ; — my  Iniaginatiou  is 
yet  dazzled  : — my  eyes  are  tired  of  admiring,  my 
mind  is  tired  of  thinking,  and  my  heart  with  feel- 
ing.  Now  for  repose. 

27. — To-day  we  yisited  the  ManfrinI  Palace,  the 
Casa  Pisani,  the  Palazzo  Barberigo,  and  concluded 
the  morning  in  the  colonnade  of  St.  Mark,  and  the 
public  gardens.  The  day  has  been  far  less  fatigu- 
ing than  yesterday :  for  though  we  haye  seen  an 
equal  yariety  of  objects,  they  forced  the  attention 
less,  and  gratified  the  imagination  more. 

At  the  ManfrinI  Palace  there  is  the  most  valu- 
able and  splendid  collection  of  pictures  I  have  yet 
seen  In  Italy  or  elsewhere.  I  have  no  Intention  of 
turning  my  little  Diary  into  a  mere  catalogue  of 
names  which  I  can  find  In  every  guide-book  ;  but 
I  cannot  pass  over  Giorgione's  beautiful  group  of 
himself,  and  his  wife  and  cliild,  which  Lord  Byron 
calls  "  love  at  full  length  and  life,  not  love  Ideal," 
and  it  is  Indeed  exquisite.  A  female  with  a  guitar 
by  the  same  master  is  almost  equal  to  it.  There 
are  two  Lucretias — one  by  Guido  and  one  by 
Giordano  :  though  both  are  beautiful,  particularly 
the  former,  there  was,  I  thought,  an  Impropriety 
iu  the  conception  of  both  pictures  :  the  figure  was 
too  voluptuous — too  exposed,  and  did  not  give  me 
the  idea  of  the  matronly  Lucretia,  who  so  carefully 


68  VENICE. 

arraiiged  her  drapery  before  she  fell.  I  remember, 
too,  a  St.  Cecilia,  by  Carlo  Dolci,  of  most  heavenly 
beauty, — two  Correggios — Iphigenia  in  Aulis,  by 
Padovanino  :  in  this  picture  the  figure  of  Agamem- 
non is  a  complete  failure,  but  the  lifeless  beauty 
of  Iphigenia,  a  wonderful  effort  of  art :  and  a  hun- 
dred others  ,at  least,  all  masterpieces. 

The  Barberigo  Palace  was  the  school  of 
Titian.  AVe  were  shown  the  room  in  which  he 
painted,  and  the  picture  he  left  unfinished  when 
he  died  at  the  age  of  99.  It  is  a  David — as 
vigorous  in  the  touch  and  style  as  any  of  his  first 

pictures. 

***** 

It  is  now  some  days  since  I  had  time  to  write  ; 
or  rather  the  intervals  of  excitement  and  occupa- 
tion found  me  too  much  exhausted  to  take  up  my 
pencil.     Our  stay  at  Venice  has  been   rendered 

most  agreeable  by  the  kindness  of  Mr.  11 ,  the 

British  Consul,  and  his  amiable  and  charming  wife, 
and  in  their  society  we  have  spent  much  of  the 
last  few  days. 

One  of  our  pleasantest  excursions  was  to  the 
Armenian  convent  of  St.  Lazaro,  where  we  were 
received  by  Fra  Pasquale,  an  accomplished  and 
intelligent  monk,  and  a  particular  friend  of  Mr, 

11 .     After  we  had  visited  every  part  of  the 

convent,  the  printing  press — the  library — the  lab- 
oratory— which  contains  several  fine  mathematical 
instruments  of  English  make  ;  and  admired  the 


VEXICE.  69 

beautiful  little  tame  gazelle  whicli  bounded  through 
the  cori'idors,  we  were  politely  refreshed  with 
most  delicious  sweetmeats  and  coffee  ;  and  took 
leave  of  Fra  Pasquale  with  regret. 

There  is  no  opera  at  present,  but  we  have 
visited  both  the  other  theatres.  At  the  San 
Luca,  they  gave  us  "  Elizabeth,  the  Exile  of 
Siberia,"  tolerably  acted :  but  there  was  one  trait 
introduced  very  characteristic  of  the  place  and 
people  :  Elizabeth,  in  a  tremendous  snow  storm, 
is  pursued  by  robbers ;  and  finding  a  crucifix, 
erected  by  the  roadside,  embraces  it  for  protec- 
tion. The  crucifix  flies  away  with  her  in  a  clap  of 
thunder,  and  sets  her  down  safely  at  a  distance 
from  her  persecutors.  The  audience  appeared 
equally  enchanted  and  edified  by  this  scene  :  some 
of  the  women  near  me  crossed  themselves,  and 
put  their  handkerchiefs  to  their  eyes  :  the  men 
rose  from  their  seats,  clapped  with  enthusiasm, 
and  shouted  "  Bravo  !  Miracolo  ! " 

At  the  San  Benedetto  we  were  gratified  by  a 
deep  tragedy  entitled  "  Gabrielle  Innocente,"  so 
exquisitely  absurd,  and  so  grotesquely  acted,  thai' 
the  best  comedy  could  scarcely  have  afforded  us 
more  amusement, — certainly  not  more  merriment. 
In  the  course  of  the  evening,  coffee  and  ices  were 
served  in  our  box,  as  is  the  custom  here. 

With  Mrs.  H this  evening  I  had  a  long  and 

pleasant  conversation  ;  she  is  really  one  of  the 
most  delightful  and  unaffected  women  I  ever  met 


70 


with :  and  as  there  is  nothing  in  my  melancholy 
visage  and  shrinking  reserve  to  tempt  any  person 
^  converse  with  me,  I  must  also  set  her  down  as 
one  of  the  most  good-natured.  She  talked  much 
of  Lord  Byron,  with  whom,  during  his  residence 
here,  she  was  on  intimate  terms.  She  spoke  of 
him,  not  conceitedly  as  one  vain  of  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  great  character ;  nor  with  affected 
reserve,  as  if  afraid  of  committing  herself — but 
with  openness,  animation,  and  cordial  kindness,  as 
one  whom  she  liked,  and  had  reason  to  like.  Siie 
says  the  style  of  Lord  Byron's  conversation  is 
very  much  that  of  Don  Juan  :  just  in  the  same 
manner  are  the  familiar,  the  brilliant,  the  sublime, 
the  affecting,  the  witty,  the  ludicrous,  and  the 
licentious,  mingled  and  contrasted.  Several  little 
anecdotes  which  she  related  I  need  not  write 
down  ;  I  can  scarcely  forget  them,  and  it  would 
not  be  quite  fair  as  they  were  told  en  conjiance. 
1  am  no  anecdote  hunter,  picking  up  articles  for 
*'  my  pocket  book." 

^  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

A  little  while  ago  Captain  F.  lent  me  D'ls- 
raell's  Essays  on  the  Literary  Character,  which 
had  once  belonged  to  Lord  Hyron  ;  and  contained 
marginal  notes  in  his  handwriting.  One  or  two 
of  them  are  so  curiously  characteristic  that  I  copy 
them  here. 

The  first  note  is  on  a  passage  In  which  D'ls- 
raell,  in  allusion  to  Lord  Byron,  traces  his  fond- 


71 


ness  for  oriental  scenery  to  his  having  read  Rycaut 
at  an  early  age.  On  this,  Lord  Byron  observes, 
that  he  read  every  hook  rekiting  to  the  East  before 
he  was  ten  years  old,  Including  De  Tott  and  Can- 
temir  as  well  as  Rycaut :  at  that  age,  he  says  that 
he  detested  all  poetry,  and  adds,  "  when  I  was 
in  Turkey,  I  was  oftener  tempted  to  turn  mussul- 
man  than  poet :  and  have  often  regi'etted  since 
that  /  did  not." 

At  page  99,  D'Israeli  says, 

"  The  great  poetical  genius  of  our  times  has 
openly  ahenated  himself  from  the  land  of  his 
brothers,"  (over  the  word  brothers  Lord  Byron 
has  written  Cains.)  "  He  becomes  immortal  in 
the  language  of  a  people  whom  he  would  contemn, 
he  accepts  with  ingratitude  the  fame  he  loves 
more  than  life,  and  he  is  only  truly  great  on  that 
spot  of  earth,  whose  genius,  when  he  is  no  more, 
will  contemplate  his  shade  in  sorrow  and  in 
anger." 

Lord  Byron  has  underlined  several  words  in 
this  passage,  and  writes  thus  in  the  margin  : 

"  AVhat  was  rumored  of  me  in  that  language, 
if  true,  I  was  unfit  for  England ;  and  if  false,  Eng- 
land was  unfit  for  me.  But '  there  is  a  world  else- 
where.' I  have  never  for  an  Instant  regretted  that 
country, — but  often  that  I  ever  returned  to  it.  It 
is  not  my  fault  that  I  am  obliged  to  write  In  Eng- 
lish. If  I  understood  any  present  language,  Italian, 
for  instance,  equally  well,  I  would  write  in  it: — but 


12  VENICE. 

it  will  require  ten  years,  at  least,  to  form  a  style. 
No  tongue  so  easy  to  acquire  a  little  of,  and  so  dif- 
ficult to  master  thoroughly,  as  Italian." 

The  next  note  is  amusing ;  at  page  342  is  men- 
tioned the  anecdote  of  Peti-arch,  who  when  return- 
ing to  liis  native  town,  was  informed  that  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  house  in  which  he  was  born  had 
often  wished  to  make  alterations  in  it,  but  that  the 
town's-people  had  risen  to  insist  that  the  house  con- 
secrated by  his  birth  should  remain  unchanged ; — 
"  a  triumph,"  adds  D'Israeli,  "  more  aifecting  to 
Petrarch  than  even  his  coronation  at  Rome." 

Lord  Byron  has  written  in  the  margin — "  It 
would  have  pained  ?ne  more  that  the  proprietor 
should  often  have  wished  to  make  alterations,  than 
it  would  give  me  pleasure  that  the  rest  of  Arezzo 
rose  against  his  right  (for  right  he  had)  :  the  de- 
preciation of  the  lowest  of  mankind  is  more  pain- 
ful, than  the  applause  of  the  highest  is  pleasing. 
The  sting  of  the  scorpion  is  more  in  torture  than 
the  jiossession  of  any  thing  short  of  Venus  would 
be  in  rapture." 

***** 

The  public  gardens  are  the  work  of  the  French, 
and  occupy  the  extremity  of  one  of  the  islands. 
They  contain  the  only  trees  I  have  seen  at  Venice : 
— a  few  rows  of  dwarfish  unhappy-looking  shrubs, 
parched  by  the  sea  breezes,  and  are  little  fre- 
quented. We  found  here  a  solitary  gentleman, 
who  was  sauntering  up  and  down  with  his  hands 


VENICE.  /3 

in  his  pockets,  and  a  look  at  once  stupid  and  dis- 
consolate. Sometimes  lie  paused,  looked  vacantly 
over  the  waters,  whistled,  yawned,  and  turned 
away  to  resume  his  solemn  walk.  On  a  trifling 
remark  addressed  to  him  by  one  of  our  party,  he 
entered  into  conversation,  with  all  the  eagerness  of 
a  man,  whose  tongue  had  long  been  kept  in  most 
unnatural  bondage.  He  congratulated  himself  on 
having  met  with  some  one  who  would  speak  Eng- 
lish ;  adding  contemptuously,  that  "  he  understood 
none  of  the  outlandish,  tongues  the  people  spoke 
hereabouts  :"  he  inquired  what  was  to  be  seen  here, 
for  though  he  had  been  four  days  in  Venice,  he 
had  spent  every  day  precisely  in  the  same  manner; 
viz.  walking  up  and  down  the  public  gardens.  We 
told  him  Venice  was  famous  for  fine  buldings  and 
pictures  ;  he  knew  nothing  of  them  things.  And 
that  it  contained  also,  "  some  fine  statues  and  an- 
ti(|ues" — ^he  cared  nothing  about  them  neither — he 
should  set  off  for  Florence  the  next  morning,  and 
begged  to  know  what  was  to  be  seen  there  V  JVIr. 
R told  him,  with  enthusiasm,  "  the  most  splen- 
did gallery  of  pictures  and  statues  in  the  world  ! " 
He  looked  very  blank  and  disappointed.  "Noth- 
ing else  ?  "  then  he  should  certainly  not  waste  his 
time  at  Florence,  he  should  go  direct  to  Rome  ;  he 
had  put  down  the  name  of  that  town  in  his  pocket- 
book,  for  he  understood  it  was  a  very  convenient 
place :  he  should  therefore  stay  there  a  week  : 
thence  he  should  go  to  Naples,  a  place  he  had  also 


u 


heard  of,  where  he  should  stay  another  week  :  then 
ht  should  go  to  Algiers,  where  he  should  stay  three 
weeks,  and  thence  to  Tunis,  whei-e  he  expected  to 
be  very  comfortable,  and  should  probably  make  a 
long  stay;  then  he  should  return  home,  having 
seen  every  thing  worth  seeing.  He  scarcely  seemed 
to  know  how  or  by  what  route  he  had  got  to 
Venice — but  he  assured  us  he  had  come  "  fast 
enough  ;" — he  remembered  no  place  he  had  passed 
through  except  Paris.  At  Paris,  he  told  us, 
there  was  a  female  lodging  in  the  same  hotel  with 
himself,  who,  by  his  description,  appears  to  have 
been  a  single  lady  of  rank  and  fashion,  ti-avelling 
with  her  own  carriages  and  a  suite  of  servants.  He 
had  never  seen  her  ;  but  learning  through  the  do- 
mestics that  she  was  travelling  the  same  route,  he 
sat  down  and  wrote  her  a  long  letter,  beginning 
"  Dear  Madam,"  and  proposing  they  should  join 
company,  "  for  the  sake  of  good  fellowship,  and  the 
hit  of  chat  they  might  have  on  their  way."  Of 
course  she  took  no  notice  of  this  strange  billet, 
"  from  which,"  added  he  with  ludicrous  simplicity, 
"  I  supposed  she  would  rather  travel  alone." 

Truly,  "  Nature  hath  framed  strange  fellows  in 
her  time."  After  this  specimen,  sketched  from 
life,  who  will  say  there  are  such  things  as  carica- 
tures ? 

We  visited  to-day  the  Giant's  Staircase  and  the 
Bridge  of  Sighs,  and  took  a  last  farewell  of  St. 


75 


Mark — we  were  surprised  to  see  the  church  hung 
wilh  black — the  Icstoons  of  flowers  all  removed — 
masses  going  forward  at  several  altars,  and  crowds 
of  people  looking  particularly  solemn  and  devout. 
It  is  the  "  Giomo  dei  morte,"  the  day  by  the  Ro- 
man Catholics  consecrated  to  the  dead  I  observed 
many  persons,  both  men  and  women,  who  wept 
Avhile  they  prayed,  with  every  appearance  of  the 
most  profound  grief.  Leaving  St.  Mark,  I  crossed 
the  square.  On  the  three  lofty  standards  in  front 
of  the  church,  formerly  floated  the  ensigns  of  the 
three  states  subject  to  Venice, — theMorea,  Cyprus, 
and  Caiidia :  the  bare  poles  remain,  but  the  en- 
signs of  empire  are  gone.  One  of  the  standards 
was  extended  on  the  ground,  and  being  of  innnense 
length,  I  hesitated  for  a  moment  whether  I  should 
make  a  circuit,  but  at  last  stepped  over  it.  I  looked 
back  with  remorse,  for  it  was  like  trampling  over 
the  fallen. 

We  then  returned  to  our  inn  to  prepare  for  our 
departure.  How  I  regret  to  leave  Venice !  not 
the  less  because  I  cannot  help  it. 

Kovigo,  Nov.  3. 

We  left  Venice  in  a  hurry  yesterday,  slept  at 
Padua,  and  travelled  this  morning  through  a  most 
lovely  country,  among  the  Enganean  hills  to 
Kovigo,  where  we  are  very  uncomfortably  lodged 
at  the  Albergo  di  San  Marco. 

I  have  not  yet  recovered  my  regret  at  leaving 


76 


Venice  so  unexpectedly ;  though  as  a  residence,  I 
could  scarce  endure  it ;  the  sleepy  canals,  the 
jrliding  gondolas  in  their  "dusk  livery  of  woe" — 
the  absence  of  all  vei'dure,  all  variety — of  all 
nature,  in  short ;  the  silence,  disturbed  only  by  the 
incessant  chiming  of  bells — and,  worse  than  all,  the 
spectacle  of  a  great  city  "  expiring,"  as  Lord  Byron 
says,  "  before  our  eyes,"  would  give  me  the  hor- 
rors :  but  as  a  visitor,  my  curiosity  was  not  half 
gratified,  and  I  should  have  liked  to  have  stayed  a 
few  days  longer — perhaps  after  all,  I  have  reason 
to  rejoice  that  instead  of  bringing  away  from  Ven- 
ice a  disagrreeable  impression  of  satiety,  disgust, 
and  melancholy,  I  have  quitted  it  with  feelings 
of  admiration,  of  deep  regret,  and  undiminished 
interest. 

Farewell,  then,  Venice  !  I  could  not  have  be- 
lieved it  possible  that  it  would  have  brought  tears 
to  my  eyes  to  leave  a  place  merely  for  its  own 
sake,  and  unendeared  by  the  presence  of  any  one 
I  loved. 

As  Rovigo  affords  no  other  amusement  I  shall 
scribble  a  little  longer. 

Nothing  can  be  more  arbitrary  than  the  Austrian 
government  at  Venice.  As  a  summary  method  of 
preventing  robberies  during  the  winter  months, 
when  many  of  the  gondoliers  and  fishermen  are 
out  of  employ,  the  police  have  orders  to  arrest, 
without  ceremony,  every  person  who  has  no  per- 
manent  trade   or   profession,  and   keep   them   in 


77 


confinement  and  to  hard  labor  till  the  return  of 
spring. 

The  commerce  of  Venice  has  so  much  and  so 

rapidly  declined,  that  Mr.  11 told  us  when  first 

he  was  appointed  to  the  consulship,  a  hundred  and 
fifty  English  vessels  cleared  the  port,  and  this  year 
only  five.  It  should  seem  that  Austria,  from  a 
cruel  and  selfish  policy,  is  sacrificing  Venice  to  the 
prosperity  of  Trieste :  but  why  do  I  call  that  a 
cruel  policy,  which  on  recollection  I  might  rather 
term  poetical  and  retributive  justice  ? 

The  grandeur  of  Venice  arose  first  from  its  trade 
in  salt.  1  remember  reading  in  history,  that  when 
the  king  of  Hungary  opened  certain  productive 
salt  mines  in  his  dominions,  the  Venetians  sent 
him  a  peremptory  order  to  shut  them  up ;  and 
such  was  the  power  of  the  Republic  at  that  time, 
that  he  was  forced  to  obey  this  insolent  command, 
to  the  great  injury  and  impoverishment  of  his 
states.  The  tables  are  now  turned  :  the  02:)pressor 
has  become  the  oppressed. 

The  principal  revenue  derived  from  Venice  is 
from  the  tax  on  houses,  there  being  no  land  tax. 
So  rapid  was  the  decay  of  the  place,  that  in  two 
years  seventy  houses  and  palaces  were  pulled 
down ;  the  government  forbade  this  by  a  special 
law,  and  now  taxes  are  paid  for  many  houses 
whose  proprietors  are  too  poor  to  live  in  them. 

There  is  no  society,  properly  so  called,  at  Venice ; 
three  old  women  of  rank  receive  company  now  and 
then,  and  it  is  any  thing  rather  than  select. 


Mr.  F.  told  us  at  Venice,  that,  on  entering  the 
states  subject  to  Austria,  he  had  liis  Johnson's  Dic- 
tionary taken  from  him.  and  could  never  recover 
it;  so  jealous  is  the  government  of  English  princi- 
ples and  English  literature,  that  all  English  books 
are  prohibited  until  examined  by  the  police. 

The  whole  country  from  ]\lilan  to  Padua  was 
like  a  vast  garden,  nothing  could  exceed  its  fertility 
and  beauty.  It  was  the  latter  end  of  the  vintage  ; 
and  we  frequently  met  huge  tub-like  waggons 
loaded  with  purple  grapes,  reeling  home  from  the 
vineyards,  and  driven  by  men  whose  legs  were 
stained  with  treading  in  the  wine-press — now  and 
then,  rich  clusters  were  shaken  to  the  ground,  as  I 
have  seen  wisps  of  straw  fall  from  a  hay-cart  in 
England,  and  were  regarded  with  equal  indiifer- 
ence.  Sometimes  we  saw  in  the  vineyards  by  the 
road-side,  groups  of  laborers  seated  among  the 
branches  of  the  trees,  and  plucking  grapes  from 
the  vines,  which  were  trailed  gracefullj'  from  tree 
to  tree  and  from  branch  to  branch,  and  drooped 
with  their  luxurious  burden  of  fruit.  The  scene 
would  have  been  as  perfectly  delightful,  as  it  was 
new  and  beautiful,  but  for  the  squalid  looks  of  the 
peasantry ;  more  especially  of  the  women.  The 
principal  productions  of  the  country  seem  to  be 
wine  and  silk.  There  were  vast  groves  of  mul- 
berry trees  between  Verona  and  Padua ;  and  wo 
visited  some  of  the  silk-mills,  in  which  the  united 
strength  of  men  invariably  performed  those  operaf 


JOURNEY   TO   FLOREXCE.  79 

tious  ■which  in  England  are  accomplished  by  steam 
or  water.  I  saw  in  a  huge  horizontal  wheel,  about 
a  dozen  of  these  poor  creatures  labouring  so  hai'd, 
that  my  very  heart  ached  to  see  them,  and  I 
begged  that  the  machine  might  be  stopped  that  I 
might  speak  to  them : — but  when  it  teas  stopped, 
and  I  beheld  their  half  savage,  half  stupefied,  I  had 
almost  said  brulified  countenances,  I  could  not 
utter  a  single  word — but  gave  them  something,  and 
turned  away. 

"  Compassion  is  wasted  upon   such   creatures," 

said  R ;  "  do  you  not  see  that  their  minds  are 

degraded  down  to  their  condition  ?  they  do  not 
pity  themselves  :  " — but  therefore  did  I  pity  them 
the  more. 

Bologna,  Nov.  5. 

I  fear  I  shall  retain  a  disagreeable  impression 
of  Bologna,  for  here  I  am  again  ill.  I  have  seen 
little  of  what  the  town  contains  of  beautiful  and 
curious :  and  that  little,  under  unpleasant  and 
painful  circumstances. 

Yesterday  we  passed  through  Fei-rara ;  only 
stopping  to  change  horses  and  dine.  We  snatched 
a  moment  to  visit  the  hospital  of  St.  Anna  and  the 
prison  of  Tasso — the  glory  and  disgrace  of  Fer-  • 
rara.  Over  the  iron  gate  is  written  "  Ingresso 
alia  prigione  di  Torquato  Tasso."  The  cell  itself 
is  miserably  gloomy  and  wretched,  and  not  above 
twelve    feet    square.     How   amply    has   posterity 


So  JOURNEY    TO    rLOKENCE. 

avenged  the  cause  of  the  poet  on  his  tyrant ! — and 
as  we  emerge  from  his  obscure  dungeon  and 
descend  the  steps  of  the  hospital  of  St.  Anna, 
with  what  fervent  hatred,  indignation,  and  scorn, 
do  we  gaze  upon  the  towers  of  the  ugly  red  brick 
palace,  or  rather  fortress,  which  deforms  the  great 
square,  and  where  Alphonso  feasted  while  Tasso 
wept !  The  inscrijition  on  the  door  of  the  cell 
calling  on  strangers  to  venerate  the  spot  where 
Tasso,  "  Infermo  piu  di  tristezza  che  delirio," 
was  confined  seven  years  and  one  month — was 
placed  there  by  the  French,  and  its  accuracy  may 
be  doubted  ;  as  ftir  as  I  can  recollect.  The  grass 
growing  in  the  wide  streets  of  Ferrara  is  no 
poetical  exaggeration ;  I  saw  it  rank  and  long 
even  on  the  thresholds  of  the  deserted  houses, 
whose  sashless  windows,  and  flapping  doors,  and 
roofless  walls,  looked  strangely  desolate. 

I  will  say  nothing  of  Bologna ; — for  the  few 
days  I  have  spent  here  have  been  to  me  days 
of  acute  suSering,  in  more  ways  than  I  wish  to  re- 
member, and  therefore  dare  not  dwell  upon. 

At  Covigliajo  in  the  Apennines. 
O  for  the  pencil  of  Salvator,  or  the  pen  of  a 
.Radclille  !  But  could  either,  or  could  both 
united,  give  to  my  mind  the  scenes  of  to-day,  in 
all  their  splendid  combinations  of  beauty  and 
brightness,  gloom  and  grandeur  ?  A  picture  may 
present  to  the  eye  a  small  portion  of  the  boundless 


JOURNEY   TO    FLORENCE.  81 

whole- -one  aspect  of  the  ever- varying  focc  of 
nature  ;  and  words,  how  weak  are  they  ! — they 
arc  but  the  elements  out  of  which  the  quick  imag- 
ination frames  and  composes  lovely  landscapes, 
according  to  its  power  or  its  peculiar  character ; 
and  in  which  the  unimaginative  man  finds  only 
a  mere  chaos  of  verbiage,  without  form,  and  void. 
The  scenery  of  the  Apennines  is  altogether 
different  in  character  from  that  of  the  Alps  :  it  is 
less  bold,  less  lofty,  less  abrupt  and  teri-ific — but 
more  beautiful,  more  luxuriant,  and  infinitely  more 
varied.  At  one  time,  the  road  wound  among  prec- 
ipices and  crags,  crowned  with  dismantled  for- 
tresses and  ruined  castles — skirted  with  dark  pine 
forests — and  opening  into  wild  recesses  of  gloom, 
and  inmieasurable  depths  like  those  of  Tartarus 
profound  ;  then  came  such  glimpses  of  paradise  ! 
such  soft  sunny  valleys  and  peaceful  hamlets — and 
vine-clad  eminences  and  rich  pastures,  with  here 
and  there  a  convent  half  hidden  by  groves  of 
cypress  and  cedars.  As  we  ascended  we  arrived 
at  a  height  from  which,  looking  back,  we  could 
see  the  whole  of  Lombardy  spread  at  our  feet ;  a 
vast,  glittering,  indistinct  landscape,  bounded  on 
the  north  by  the  summits  of  the  Alps,  just  ap- 
parent above  the  horizon,  like  a  range  of  small 
silvery  clouds  ;  and  on  the  east,  a  long  unbroken 
Une  of  bluish  light  marked  the  far  distant  Adriatic ; 
as  the  day  declined,  and  we  continued  our  ascent, 
(occasionally  assisted  by  a  yoke  of  oxen  where  the 


82  JOURNEY   TO   FLOREXCE. 

aclivity  was  very  precipitate,)  the  mountains 
closed  around  us,  the  scenery  became  more  wildly 
romantic,  barren,  and  bleak.  At  length,  after 
passing  the  crater  of  a  volcano,  visible  through 
the  gloom  by  its  dull  red  light,  we  arrived  at  the 
Inn  of  Covigliajo,  an  uncouth  dreary  edifice, 
situated  in  a  lonely  and  desolate  spot,  some  miles 
from  any  other  habitation.  This  is  the  very  inn, 
infamous  for  a  sei'ies  of  the  most  horrible  assassi- 
nations, committed  here  some  years  ago.  Travel- 
lers arrived,  departed,  disappeared,  and  were  never 
heard  of  more  ;  by  what  agency,  or  in  what  man- 
ner disposed  of,  could  not  be  discovered.  It  waa 
supposed  for  some  time  that  a  horde  of  banditti 
were  harbored  among  the  mountains,  and  the 
police  were  for  a  long  time  in  active  search  for 
them,  while  the  real  miscreants  remained  unsus- 
pected for  their  seeming  insignificance  and  help- 
lessness ;  these  were  the  mistress  of  the  inn,  the 
cameriere,  and  the  curate  of  the  nearest  village, 
about  two  leagues  off.  They  secretly  murdered 
every  traveller  who  was  supposed  to  carry  prop- 
erty— burled  or  burned  their  clothes,  packages, 
and  vehicles,  retaining  nothing  but  their  watches, 
jewels,  and  money.  The  whole  story,  with  all  its 
horrors,  the  manner  of  discovery,  and  the  fate  of 
these  wretches,  is  told,  I  think,  by  Forsyth,  who 
can  hardly  be  suspected  of  romance  or  exaggera- 
tion. I  have  him  not  with  me  to  refer  to  ;  but  I 
well    remember    the    mysterious   and    shuddering 


.TOURNEY   TO    FLOKENCE.  83 

dread  with  whicli  I  read  the  anecdote.  I  am  gla.I 
no  one  else  seems  to  recollect  it.  The  inn  at  pres- 
ent contains  many  more  than  it  can  possibly  ac- 
commodatt,.  We  have  secured  the  best  rooms,  or 
rather  the  only  rooms — and  besides  ourselves  and 
other  foreigners,  there  are  numbers  of  native  trav- 
ellers :  some  of  whom  arrived  on  horseback,  and 
others  with  the  Vetturini.  A  kind  of  gallery  or 
corridor  separates  the  sleeping  rooms,  and  is 
divided  by  a  curtain  into  two  parts :  the  smaller 
is  appropriated  to  us,  as  a  saloon  :  the  other  half, 
as  I  contemplate  it  at  this  moment  through  a  rent 
in  the  curtain,  presents  a  singular  and  truly  Italian 
spectacle  — a  huge  black  rron  lamp,  suspended  by 
A  chain  from  the  rafters,  throws  a  flaring  and 
shifting  liglit  around.  Some  trusses  of  hay  have 
been  shaken  down  upon  the  floor,  to  supply  the 
place  of  beds,  chairs,  and  tables ;  and  there,  re- 
clining in  various  attitudes,  I  see  a  number  of 
dark-looking  figures,  some  eating  and  drinking, 
some  sleeping ;  some  ])laying  at  cards,  some  tell- 
ing stories  with  all  the  Italian  variety  of  gesticula- 
tion and  intonation  ;  some  silently  looking  on,  or 
listening.  Two  or  three  common  looking  fellows 
began  to  smoke  their  cigars,  but  when  it  was 
suggested  that  this  might  incommode  the  ladies 
on  the  other  side  of  the  curtain,  they  with  genuine 
politeness  ceased  directly.  Through  this  motley 
and  picturesque  assemblage  I  have  to  make  my 
way  to  my  bed-room  in  a  lew  minutes — I  will  taka 
another  look  at  them,  and  then andiamo  ! 


84  FLORENCE. 

Flo^(•n^e,  Not.  8. 

"La  belliseraa  e  famosissima  figlia  di  Roma," 
as  Dante  calls  her  in  some  relenting  moment. 
Last  night  we  slept  in  a  blood-stained  hovel — and 
to-night  we  are  lodged  in  a  palace.  So  much  for 
the  vicissitudes  of  travelling. 

I  am  not  subject  to  idle  fears,  and  least  of  all  to 
superstitious  fears — but  last  night,  at  Covigliajo, 
I  could  not  sleep — I  could  not  even  lie  down  for 
more  than  a  few  minutes  together.  The  whis- 
pered voices  and  hard  breathing  of  the  men  who 
slept  in  the  corridor,  from  whom  only  a  sliglit 
door  divided  me,  disturbed  and  fevered  my  nerves  ; 
horrible  imaginings  were  all  around  me  :  and 
gladly  did  I  throw  open  my  window  at  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  dawn,  and  gladly  did  I  hear  the 
first  well-known  voice  which  summoned  me  to  a 
hasty  breakfast.  How  reviving  was  the  breath  oi 
the  early  morning,  after  leaving  that  close,  suflb- 
cating,  ill-omened  inn  !  how  beautiful  the  blush  of 
light  stealing  downwards  from  the  illumined  sum- 
mits to  the  valleys,  tinting  the  fleecy  mists,  as 
they  rose  from  the  earth,  till  all  the  landscape 
was  flooded  with  sunshine  :  and  when  at  length  we 
passed  the  mountains,  and  began  to  descend  into 
the  rich  vales  of  Tuscany — when  from  the  heights 
above  Fesole,  we  beheld  the  city  of  Florence,  and 
above  it  the  young  moon  and  the  evening  star  sus- 
pended side  by  side ;  and  floating  over  the  whole 
of  the  Val    d'Arno,   and    the    lovely    hills    which 


FLORENCE.  85 

enclose  it,  a  mist,  or  rather  a  siiflfusion  of  tlie 
richest  rose  color,  which  gradually,  as  the  day 
declined,  faded,  or  rather  deepened  into  purple ; 
then  I  first  understood  all  the  enchantment  of  an 
Italian  landscape. — O  what  a  country  is  this !  All 
that  I  see,  I  feel — all  that  I  feel,  sinks  so  deep 
into  my  heart  and  ray  memory  !  the  deeper  be- 
cause I  suffer — and  because  I  never  think  of  ex- 
pressing, or  sharing,  one  emotion  with  those  around 
me,  but  lock  it  up  in  my  own  bosom  ;  or  at  least 
in  my  little  book — as  T  do  now. 

Nov.  10. — We  visited  the  gallery  for  the  first 
time  yesterday  morning ;  and  I  came  away  with 
my  eyes  and  imagination  so  dazzled  with  excel- 
lence, and  so  distracted  with  variety,  that  I  re- 
tained no  distinct  recollection  of  any  particular 
object  except  the  Venus  ;  which  of  course  was 
the  first  and  great  attraction.  This  morning  was 
much  more  delightful  ;  my  powers  of  discrimina- 
tion returned,  and  my  power  of  enjoyment  was 
not  diminished.  New  perceptions  of  beauty  and 
excellence  seemed  to  open  upon  my  mind  ;  and 
faculties  long  dormant,  were  roused  to  pleasurable 
activity. 

I  came  away  untired,  unsated  ;  and  with  a  de- 
lightful and  distinct  impression  of  all  I  had  seen. 
I  leave  to  catalogues  to  particulai'ize  ;  and  am  con- 
tent to  admire  and  to  remember. 

I  am  glad  I  was  not  disappointed  in  the  Venus, 
which  I  half  expected.     Neitlier  was  I  surprised  ; 


86  FLOKENCE. 

but  I  felt  while  I  gazed  a  sense  of  unalloyed  and 
unmingled  pleasure,  and  forgot  the  cant  of  criti- 
cism. It  has  the  same  effect  to  the  eye,  that  per- 
fect harmony  has  upon  the  ear  :  and  I  think  I  can 
understand  why  no  copy,  cast,  or  model,  however 
accurate,  however  exquisite,  can  convey  the  im- 
pression of  tenderness  and  sweetness,  the  divine 
and  peculiar  charm  of  the  original. 

After  dinner  we  walked  in  the  grounds  of  the 
Cascine, — a  dairy  farm  belonging  to  the  grand 
duke,  just  without  the  gates  of  Florence.  The 
promenade  lies  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  and  is 
sheltered  and  beautiful.  We  saw  few  native 
Italians,  but  great  numbers  of  English  walking 
and  riding.  The  day  was  as  warm,  as  sunny, 
as  brilliant  as  the  first  days  of  September  in 
England. 

To-night,  after  resting  a  little,  I  went  out  to  view 
the  effect  of  the  city  and  surrounding  scenery,  by 
moonlight.  It  is  not  alone  the  brilliant  purity  of 
the  skies  and  atmosphere,  nor  the  peculiar  char- 
acter of  the  scenery  which  strikes  a  stranger ;  but 
here  art  harmonizes  with  nature  :  the  style  of  the 
buildings,  their  flat  projecting  roofs,  white  walls, 
balconies,  colonnades,  and  statues,  are  all  set  off 
to  advantage  by  the  radiance  of  an  Italian  moon. 

I  walked  across  the  first  bridge,  from  which  I 
had  a  fine  view  of  the  Ponte  della  Trinitii,  with 
its  graceful  arches  and  light  balustrade,  touched 
with   the  sparkling  mooubeams   and   relieved   by 


FLOREXCK.  87 

dark  shadow:  then  I  strolled  along  tlu.  (juay  Ir. 
front  of  the  Corsini  palace,  and  beyond  the  colon- 
nade of  the  Uilizi,  to  the  last  of  the  four  bridges; 
on  the  middle  of  which  I  stood  and  looked  back 
upon  the  city — (how  justly  styled  the  Fair !) — with 
all  its  buildings,  its  domes,  its  steeples,  its  bridges, 
and  woody  hills,  and  glittering  convents,  and  mar- 
ble villas,  peeping  from  embowering  olives  and 
cypresses;  and  far  off  the  snowy  peaks  of  the 
Apennines,  shining  against  the  dark  purple  sky  ; 
the  whole  blended  together  in  one  delicious  scene 
of  shadowy  splendor.  After  contemplating  it 
with  a  kind  of  melancholy  delight,  long  enough  to 
get  it  by  heart,  I  returned  homewards.  Men  were 
standing  on  the  wall  along  the  Arno,  in  various 
picturesque  attitudes,  fishing,  after  the  Italian 
fashion,  with  singular  nets  suspended  to  long  poles ; 
and  as  I  saw  their  dark  figures  between  me  and 
the  moonlight,  and  elevated  above  my  eye,  they 
looked  like  colossal  statues.  I  then  strayed  into 
the  Piazza  del  Gran  Duca.  Here  the  rich  moon- 
light, streaming  through  the  arcade  of  tlie  gallery, 
fell  directly  upon  the  fine  Perseus  of  Benvenuto 
Cellini ;  and  illuminating  the  green  bronze,  touched 
it  with  a  spectral  and  supernatural  beauty.  Thence 
I  walked  round  the  equestrian  statue  of  Cosmo, 
and  so  home  over  the  Ponte  Alia  Carrajo. 

Aov.  11. — I  spent  about  two  hours  in  the  gal 
lery,  and  for  the  first  time  saw  the  Niobe.  Thin 
etatue  has  been  for  a  long  time  a  favorite  of  my 


88  FLORENCE. 

imagination,  and  I  approached  it,  treading  softly 
and  slowly,  and  with  a  feeling  of  reverence  ;  for  1 
had  an  impression  that  the  original  Niobe  would, 
like  the  original  Venus,  surpass  all  the  casts  and 
copies  I  had  seen,  both  in  beauty  and  expression  : 
but  appai'ently  expression  is  more  easily  caught 
than  delicacy  and  grace,  and  the  grandeur  and 
pathos  of  the  attitude  and  grouping  easily  copied 
— for  I  think  the  best  casts  of  the  Niobe  are  accu- 
rate counterparts  of  the  original ;  and  at  the  first 
glance  I  was  capriciously  disajjpointed,  because 
the  statue  did  not  surpass  my  expectations.  It 
should  be  contemplated  from  a  distance.  It  is 
supposed  that  the  whole  group  once  ornamented 
the  pediment  of  a  temple — probably  the  temple 
of  Diana  or  Latona.  I  once  saw  a  beautiful 
drawing  by  Mr.  Cockerell,  of  the  manner  in 
which  he  supposed  the  whole  group  was  distrib- 
uted. Many  of  the  figures  are  rough  and  unfin- 
ished at  the  back,  as  if  they  had  been  placed  on 
a  height,  and  viewed  only  in  front. 

In  the  same  room  with  the  Niobe  is  a  head 
which  struck  me  more — the  Alexandre  Monrant. 
The  title  seemed  to  me  misapplied ;  for  there  is 
something  indignant  and  upbraiding,  as  well  aa 
mournful,  in  the  expression  of  this  magnificent 
head.  It  is  undoubtedly  Alexander — but  Alex- 
ander reproaching  the  gods — or  calling  upon 
Heaven  for  new  worlds  to  conquer. 

I  visited  also  the  gallery  of  Bronzes  :  it  contains, 


FLORKNCE.  8b 

among  other  master-pieces,  the  aerial  Mercury  of 
John  of  Bologna,  of  which  we  see  such  a  multi- 
plicity of  copies.  There  is  a  conceit  in  perching 
him  upon  the  bluff  cheeks  of  a  little  Eolus :  but 
what  exquisite  lightness  in  tlie  figure ! — how  it 
mounts,  how  it  floats,  disdaining  the  earth !  On 
leaving  the  gallery,  I  sauntered  about ;  visited 
some  churches,  and  then  returned  home  depressed 
and  wearied :  and  in  this  melancholy  humor  I  had 
better  close  my  book,  lest  I  be  tempted  to  write 
what  I  could  not  bear  to  see  written. 

Sunday. — At  the  English  ambassador's  chapel. 
To  attend  public  worship  among  our  own  country- 
men, and  hear  the  praises  of  God  in  our  native 
accents,  in  a  strange  land,  among  a  strange  people  ; 
where  a  different  language,  different  manners, 
and  a  different  religion  prevail,  affects  the  mind, 
or  at  least  ought  to  affect  it; — and  deeply  too: 
yet  I  cannot  say  that  1  felt  devout  this  morning. 
The  last  day  I  visited  St.  Mark's,  when  I  knelt 
down  beside  the  poor  weeping  girl  and  her  dove- 
basket,  my  heart  was  touched,  and  my  prayers,  1 
humbly  trust,  were  not  unheard  :  to-day,  in  that 
hot  close-crowded  room,  among  those  fine  people 
flaunting  in  all  the  luxury  of  dress,  I  felt  suffo- 
cated, feverish,  and  my  head  ached — the  clergy- 
man too 

***** 

Samuel  Rogers  paid  us  a  long  visit  this  morn- 
ing.    He  does  not  look  as  if  the  suns  of  Italv  had 


90  FLOREXCE. 

revivified  him — but  he  is  as  aminhle  and  amusing 
as  ever.  He  talked  long,  et  avec  heaucoup  d'onC' 
tion,  of  ortolans  and  figs ;  till  methought  it  was 
the  very  poetry  of  epicurism  ;  and  put  me  in  mind 
of  his  own  suppers— 

"  Wliere  blushing  fraits  through  scatter'd  leaves  invite, 
Still  clad  in  bloom  and  veiled  in  azure  light. 
The  wine  as  rich  in  years  as  Horace  sings;  " 

and  the  rest  of  his  description,  worthy  of  a  poeti- 
cal Apicius. 

Rogers  may  be  seen  every  day  about  eleven  or 
twelve  in  the  Tribune,  seated  opposite  to  the 
Venus,  which  appears  to  be  the  exclusive  object 
of  his  adoration;  and  gazing,  as  if  he  hoped,  like 
another  Pygmalion,  to  animate  the  statue ;  or 
rather,  perhaps,  that  the  statue  might  animate  him. 
A  young  Englishman  of  fashion,  with  as  much 
talent  as  espI6glerie,  placed  an  epistle  in  verse 
between  the  fingers  of  the  statue,  addressed  to 
Rogers ;  in  which  the  goddess  entreats  him  not 
to  come  there  ogling  her  every  day  ; — for  though 
"  partial  friends  might  deem  him  still  alive,"  she 
knew  by  his  looks  he  had  come  from  the  other  side 
of  the  Styx  ;  and  retained  her  antique  abhorrence 
of  the  spectral  dead,  &c.,  &c.  She  concluded  by 
beseeching  him,  if  he  could  not  desist  from  haunt- 
ing her  with  his  ghosdij  presence,  at  least  to  spare 
her  the  added  misfortune  of  being  be-rhymed  by 
bis  muse. 


FLORENCE.  91 

Rogers,  with  equal  good  nature  and  good  sense, 
neither  noticed  these  linas,  nor  withdrew  his  friend- 
6hip  and  intimacy  from  the  writer. 

***** 

Carlo  Dolce  is  not  one  of  my  favorite  masters. 
There  is  a  cloying  sweetness  in  his  style,  a  general 
want  of  power  which  wearies  me  :  yet  I  brought 
away  from  the  Corsini  Pulace  to-day  an  impression 
of  a  head  by  Carlo  Dolce,  (La  Poesia,)  which  I 
shall  never  forget.  Now  I  recall  the  picture,  I  am 
at  a  loss  to  tell  where  lies  the  charm  Avhich  has 
thus  powerfully  seized  on  my  imagination.  Here 
are  no  "  eyes  upturned  like  one  inspired  " — no  dis- 
tortion— no  rapt  enthusiasm — no  Muse  full  of  the 
God  ; — but  it  is  a  head  so  purely,  so  divinely  intel- 
lectual, so  heavenly  sweet,  and  yet  so  penetrating, 
— so  full  of  sensibility,  and  yet  so  unstained  by 
earthly  passion — so  brilliant,  and  yet  so  calm — 
that  if  Carlo  Dolce  had  lived  in  our  days,  I  should 
have  thought  he  intended  it  for  the  personified 
genius  of  Wordsworth's  poetry.  There  is  such  an 
individual  reality  about  tliis  beautiful  head,  that  I 
am  inclined  to  believe  the  tradition,  that  it  is  the 
portrait,  of  one  of  Carlo  Dolce's  daughters  who 
died  young : — and  yet 

"  Did  ever  mortal  mixture  of  earth's  monkl 
Breatlie  sucli  divine,  enchanting  ravishment  ?  " 

***** 
Nov.    15. — Our   stay   at    Florence   promises   to 


82  FLOREXCE. 

be  far  gayer  than  either  Milan  or  Venice,  or  even 
Paris  :  more  diversified  by  society,  as  well  as  afford- 
ing a  wider  field  of  occupation  and  amusement. 

Sometimes  in  the  long  evenings,  when  fatigued 
and  over-excited,  I  recline  apart  on  the  sofa,  or 
bury  myself  In  the  recesses  of  a  fautcuil ;  when  I 
am  aware  that  my  mind  is  wandering  away  to  for- 
bidden themes,  I  force  my  attention  to  what  is 
going  forward ;  and  often  see  and  hear  much  that 
is  entertaining,  if  not  improving.  People  are  so 
accustomed  to  my  pale  face,  languid  indifference 

and,  what  M calls,  my  impracticable  silence, 

that  after  the  first  glance  and  introduction,  I  be- 
lieve they  are  scarcely  sensible  of  my  presence  :  so 
I  sit,  and  look,  and  listen,  secure  and  harbored  in 
my  apparent  dulness.  The  flashes  of  wit,  the 
attempts  at  sentiment,  the  affectation  of  enthusi- 
asm, the  absurdities  of  folly,  and  the  blunders  of 
ignorance  ;  the  contrast  of  characters  and  the 
clash  of  opinions,  the  scandalous  anecdotes  of  the 
day,  related  with  sprightly  malice,  and  listened  to 
with  equally  malicious  avidity, — all  these,  in  my 
days  of  health  and  happiness,  had  power  to  sur- 
prise, or  amuse,  or  provoke  me.  I  could  mingle 
then  in  the  conflict  of  minds ;  and  bear  my  part 
■with  smiles  in  the  social  circle ;  though  the  next 
moment  perhaps  I  might  contemn  myself  and 
others  :  and  the  personal  scandal,  the  character- 
istic tale,  the  amusing  folly,  or  the  malignant  wit, 
were  efl'aced  from  my  mind — 


FLOREXCE.  93 


-"  Like  forms  with  chalk 


Painted  on  rich  men's  floors  for  one  feast  night." 

Now  it  is  diiferent :  I  can  smile  yet,  but  my 
smile  is  in  pity,  rather  than  in  mockery.  If  suffer- 
ing has  subdued  my  mind  to  seriousness,  and  per- 
haps enfeebled  its  powers,  I  may  at  least  hope 
that  it  has  not  soured  or  embittered  my  temper : 
— if  what  could  once  amuse,  no  longer  amuses, — 
what  could  once  provoke  has  no  longer  power  to 
irritate  :  thus  my  loss  may  be  improved  into  a  gain 
— car  tout  est  Men,  quand  tout  est  mal. 

It  is  sorrow  which  makes  our  experience  ;  it  is 
sorrow  which  teaches  us  to  feel  properly  for  oui-- 
selves  and  for  others.  We  must  feel  deeply,  be- 
fore we  can  think  rightly.  It  is  not  in  the  tem- 
pest and  storm  of  passions  we  can  reflect, — but 
afterwards  when  the  waters  have  gone  over  our 
soul;  and  like  the  precious  gems  and  the  rich 
merchandise  which  the  wild  wave  casts  on  the 
shore  out  of  the  wreck  it  has  made — such  are  the 
thoughts  left  by  retiring  passions. 

Reflection  is  the  result  of  feeling ;  from  that 
absorbing,  heart-rending  compassion  for  one's  Self, 
(the  most  painful  sensation,  almost,  of  which  our 
nature  is  capable,)  springs  a  deeper  sympathy  for 
others ;  and  from  the  sense  of  our  own  weakness, 
and  our  own  self-upbraiding,  arises  a  disposition 
to  be  indulgent— to  forbear — and  to  forgive — so  at 
least  it  ought  to  be.  When  once  we  have  shed 
those  inexpressibly   bitter  tears,  which  fall  unre- 


ffl  FLOKEXCE. 

gaided,  and  which  we  forget  to  wipe  away,  O 
how  we  shrink  from  inflicting  pain !  how  we 
shudder  at  unkindness ! — and  think  all  harshness 
even  in  thought,  only  another  name  for  cruelty ! 
These  are  but  common-place  truths,  I  know,  which 
have  often  been  a  thousand  times  better  expressed. 
Formerly  I  heard  them,  read  them,  and  thought 
I  believed  them :  now  I  feel  them ;  and  feeling, 
I  utter  them  as  if  they  were  something  new. — ■ 
Alas  !  the  lessons  of  sorrow  are  as  old  as  the  world 
itself. 

To-day  we  have  seen  nothing  new.  In  the 
morning  I  was  ill :  in  the  afternoon  we  drove  to 
the  Cascina ;  and  while  the  rest  walked,  I  spread 
my  shawl  upon  the  bank  and  basked  like  a  lizard 
in  the  sunshine.  It  was  a  most  lovely  day,  a 
summer-day  in  England.  In  this  paradise  of  a 
country,  the  common  air,  and  earth,  and  skies, 
seem  happiness  enough.  Wliile  I  sat  to-day,  on 
my  green  bank — languid,  indeed,  but  free  from 
pain — and  looked  round  upon  a  scene  wliich  has 
lost  its  novelty,  but  none  of  its  beauty, — where 
Florence,  with  its  glittering  domes  and  its  back- 
ground of  sunny  hills,  terminated  my  view  on  one 
side,  and  the  Apennines,  tinted  with  rose  color 
and  gold,  bounded  it  on  the  other,  I  felt  not  only 
pleasure,  but  a  deep  thankfulness  that  such  pleas- 
ures were  yet  left  to  me. 

Among  the  gay  figures  who  passed  and  repassed 
before  me,  I  remarked  a  benevolent  but  rather 


FLORENCE.  95 

heavy-looking  old  gentleman,  with  a  shawl  hanging 
over  his  arm,  and  holding  a  parasol,  with  which  he 
was  gallantly  shading  a  little  plain  old  woman  from 
the  November  sun.  After  them  walked  two  young 
ladies,  simply  dressed  ;  and  then  followed  a  tall 
and  very  handsome  young  man,  with  a  plain  but 
elegant  girl  hanging  on  his  arm.  This  was  the 
Grand  Duke  and  his  family  ;  with  the  Prince  of 
Carignano,  who  has  lately  married  one  of  his 
daughters.  Two  servants  in  plain  drab  liveries, 
followed  at  a  considerable  distance.  People  po- 
litely drew  on  one  side  as  they  approached  ;  but 
no  other  homage  was  paid  to  the  sovereign,  who 
thus  takes  his  walk  in  public  almost  every  day. 
Lady  Morgan  is  merry  at  the  expense  of  the 
(irand  Duke's  taste  for  brick  and  mortar :  but 
monarchs,  like  other  men,  must  have  their  amuse- 
ments ;  some  invent  uniforms,  some  stitch  embroid- 
ery ; — and  why  should  not  this  good-natured  Grand 
Duke  amuse  himself  with  his  trowel  if  he  likes  it? 
As  to  the  Prince  of  Carignano,  I  give  him  up  to 
her  lash — le  traitre — but  perhaps  he  thought  he 
■was  doing  right :  and  at  all  events  there  are  not 
flatterers  wanting,  to  call  his  perfidy  patriotism. 

I  am  told  that  Florence  retains  its  reputation  of 
being  the  most  devout  capital  in  Italy,  and  that 
here  love,  music,  and  devotion,  hold  divided  em- 
pire, or  rather  are  tria  jwicta  in  uno.  The  liberal 
patronage  and  taste  of  Lord  Burghersh,  conti'ibute 


96  FLORENCE. 

perhaps  to  make  music  so  much  a  pass^ion  as  it  is  at 
present.  Mai;iielli,  the  Grand  Duke's  Maestra  di 
Cappella,  and  director  of"  the  Conservatorio,  is  the 
finest  tenor  in  Italy.  I  have  the  pleasure  of  hear- 
ing him  frequently,  and  think  the  purity  of  his 
taste  at  least  equal  to  the  perfection  of  his  voice ; 
rare  praise  for  a  singer  in  these  "  most  brisk  and 
giddy-paced  times."  He  gave  us  last  night  the 
beautiful  recitative  which  introduces  Desdemoua's 
song  in  Othello — 

Nessum  maggior  dolore, 
Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 
Nella  miseria ! 

and  the  words,  the  music,  and  the  divine  pathos  of 
the  man's  voice  combined,  made  me  feel — as  I 
thought  I  never  could  have  felt  again. 


TO 


As  sounds  of  sweetest  music,  heard  at  eve. 
When  summer  dews  weep  over  languid  flowers, 
When  the  still  air  conveys  each  touch,  each  tone, 
However  faint — and  breathes  it  on  the  ear 
With  a  distinct  and  thrilling  power,  that  leaves 
Its  memory  long  within  the  raptur'd  soul, — 
— Even  such  thou  art  to  me ! — and  thus  1  sit 
And  feel  the  hai-mony  that  round  thee  lives. 
And  breathes  from  every  feature.     Thiis  I  sit — 
And  when  most  quiet — cold — or  silent — then 
Even  then,  I  feel  each  word,  each  look,  each  tone ! 


FLORENCE.  97 

There's  not  an  accent  of  that  tender  voice, 
There's  not  a  day-beam  of  those  sunntright  eyes, 
Nor  passhig  smile,  nor  melancholy  grace, 
Nor  thought  half  utter'd,  feeling  half  betray'd, 
Nor  glance  of  kindness, — no,  nor  gentlest  touch 
Of  that  dear  hand,  in  amity  extended. 
That  e'er  was  lost  to  me; — that  treasur'd  well, 
And  oft  recalled,  dwells  not  upon  my  soul 
1  ike  sweetest  music  heard  at  summer's  eve ! 


Yesterday  we  visited  the  church  of  San  Lo- 
renzo, the  I^aurentian  library,  and  the  Pietra  Dura 
manufactory,  and  afterwards  spent  an  hour  in  the 
Tribune. 

In  a  little  chapel  in  the  San  Lorenzo  are  Michel 
Angelo's  fjimous  statues,  the  Morning,  the  Noon, 
the  Evening,  and  the  Night.  I  looked  at  them 
with  admiration  rather  than  with  pleasure;  for 
there  is  something  in  the  severe  and  overpower- 
ing style  of  this  master,  which  affects  me  disagree- 
ably, as  beyond  my  feeling,  and  above  my  com- 
prehension. These  statues  are  very  ill  disposed 
for  effect :  the  confined  cell  (such  it  seemed)  in 
which  they  are  placed  is  so  strangely  dispropor- 
tioned  to  the  awful  and  massive  grandeur  of  their 
forms. 

There  is  a  picture  by  Michel  Angelo,  considered 
a  chef  d'oeuvr3,  which  hangs  in  the  Tribune,  to 
the  right  of  the  Venus  :'  now  if  all  the  connois- 
seurs in  the  world,  with  Vasari  at  their  head,  were 
to  harangue  for  an  hour  together  on  the  merits  of 
7 


98  FLORENCE. 

this  picture,  1  mi<iht  submit  in  silence,  for  1  am  no 
connoisseur ;  but  that  it  is  a  disajireeable,  a  hateful 
picture,  is  an  opinion  which  fire  could  not  melt 
out  of  me.  In  spite  of  Messieurs  les  Connoisseurs, 
and  Michel  Angelo's  fame,  I  would  die  in  it  at  the 
stake:  for  instance,  here  is  the  Blessed  Virgin,  not 
the  "  Vergine  Santa,  d'ogni  grazia  plena,"  but  a 
Virgin,  whose  brick-dust  colored  face,  harsh,  un- 
feminine  features,  and  nmscular,  masculine  arms, 
give  me  the  idea  of  a  washerwoman,  (con  rispetto 
parlando  !)  an  infant  Saviour  with  the  proportions 
of  a  giant  :  and  what  shall  we  say  of  the  nudity 
of  the  figures  in  the  background  ;  profaning  the 
subject  and  shocking  at  once  good  taste  and  good 
sense  ?  A  little  farther  on,  the  eye  rests  on  the 
divine  Madre  di  Dio  of  Correggio  :  what  beauty, 
what  sweetness,  what  maternal  love,  and  humble 
adoration  are  blended  in  the  look  and  attitude 
with  which  she  bends  over  her  infant !  Beyoad  it 
hangs  the  Madonna  del  Cardellino  of  Riffaelle  : 
what  heavenly  grace,  what  simplicity,  what  saint- 
like purity,  in  the  expression  of  that  foce,  and  that 
exquisite  mouth !  And  from  these  must  I  turn 
back,  on  pain  of  being  thought  an  ignoramus,  to 
admire  the  coarse  perpetration  of  Michel  Angelo 
— because  it  is  Michel  Angelo's  ?  But  I  speak  in 
ignorance.* 

To  ret  irn  to  San  Lorenzo.     The  chapel  of  the 

♦This  was  indeed  ignorance!     (1834.) 


FLOKEXCE.  95 

Medici,  begun  by  Ferdinand  tbe  First,  where 
coarse  brickwork  and  plaster  minijle  with  marble 
and  gems,  is  still  unfinished  and  likely  to  remain 
so:  it  did  not  interest  me.  The  fine  bronze  sar- 
cophagus, which  encloses  tbe  ashes  of  Lorenzo  the 
Magnificent,  and  of  his  brother  Giuliano,  assassin- 
ated by  the  Pazzi,  interested  me  far  more.  While 
I  was  standing  carelessly  in  front  of  the  high  altar, 
I  happened  to  look  down,  and  under  my  feet  were 
these  words,  "  To  Cosmo  the  Vexekable,  the 
Father  of  his  Couxtry."  I  moved  away  in 
haste,  and  before  I  had  decided  to  my  own  satis- 
faction upon  Cosmo's  claims  to  the  gratitude  and 
veneration  of  posterity,  we  left  the  church. 

At  the  Laurentian  library  we  were  edified  by 
the  sight  of  some  famous  old  manuscripts,  invalu- 
able to  classical  scholars.  To  my  unlearned  eyes 
the  manuscript  of  Petrarch,  containing  portraits  of 
himself  and  Laura,  was  more  interesting.  Pe- 
trarch is  hideous — but  I  was  pleased  with  the  head 
of  Laura,  which  in  spite  of  the  antique  dryness 
and  stiffness  of  the  painting,  has  a  soft  and  delicate 
expression  not  unlike  one  of  Carlo  Dolce's  Ma- 
ionnas.  Here  we  saw  Galileo's  fore-finger,  point- 
mg  up  to  the  skies  from  a  white  marble  pedestal ; 
and  exciting  more  derision  than  respect. 

At  the  Pietra  Dura,  notwithstanding  the  beauty 
and  durability  of  some  of  the  oljjects  manufactured, 
the  result  seemed  to  me  scarce  worth  the  incredible 
time,  patience,  and  labor  required    io  the  work 


100  FLORE^TOE. 

Pa?-  cxemple,  six  months'  hard  labor  spp.nt  upon  a 
butterfly  in  the  lid  of  a  snufT-box  seems  a  most  dis- 
proportionate waste  of  time.  Thirty  workmen  are 
employed  here  at  the  Grand  Duke's  expense ;  for 
this  manufacture,  like  that  of  the  Gobelins  at 
Paris,  is  exclusively  carried  on  for  the  sovereign. 

Nov.  20. — I  am  struck  in  this  place  with  grand 
beginnings  and  mean  endings.  I  have  not  yet 
seen  a  finished  church,  even  the  Duomo  has  no 
fa9ade. 

Yesterday  we  visited  the  Palazzo  Mozzi  to  see 
Benvenuto's  picture,  "  The  Night  after  the  Battle, 
of  Jena."  Then  several  churches  ;  the  Santa  Croce, 
which  is  hallowed  ground :  the  Annonciata,  cele- 
brated for  the  frescos  of  Andrea  del  Sarto ;  and 
the  Carmine,  which  pleased  me  by  the  light  ele- 
gance of  its  architecture,  and  its  fine  alto-relievos 
in  white  marble.  In  this  church  is  the  chapel  of 
the  Madonna  del  Carmele,  painted  by  Masuccio,  and 
the  most  ancient  frescos  extant :  they  are  curioua 
rather  than  beautiful,  and  going  to  decay. 

To-day  we  visited  the  school  of  the  Fine  Arts  : 
it  contains  a  very  fine  and  ample  collection  of 
casts  after  the  antique  ;  and  some  of  the  works 
of  modern  artists  and  students  are  exhibited. 
Were  I  to  judge  from  the  specimens  I  have  seen 
here  and  elsewhere,  I  should  say  that  a  cold,  glar- 
ing, hard  tea-tray  style  prevails  in  painting,  and  a 
still  worse  taste,  if  possible,  in  sculpture.  No  soul, 
no  grandeur,  no  simplicity  ;  a  meagre  insipidity  in 


FLORENCE.  lOt 

A<j  conceptior  ,  a  nicety  of  finish  in  the  detail ;  affec- 
tation instead  of  grace,  distortion  instead  of  power, 
and  prettiness  instead  of  beauty.  Yet  the  artists 
who  execute  these  works,  and  those  who  buy  thena, 
have  free  access  to  the  marvels  of  the  gallery,  and 
the  treasures  of  the  Pitti  Palace.  Are  they  sans 
eyes,  sans  souls,  sans  taste,  sans  every  thing,  but 
money  and  self-conceit  ? 

Nov.  22. — Our  mornings,  however  otherwise  oc- 
cupied, are  generally  concluded  by  an  hour  in  the 
gallery  or  at  the  Pitti  Palace  ;  the  evenings  are 
spent  in  the  Mercato  Nuovo,  in  the  workshops  of 
artists,  or  at  the  Cascina. 

To-day  at  the  gallery  I  examined  the  Dutch 
school  and  the  Salle  des  Portraits,  and  ended  as 
usual  with  the  Tribune.  The  Salle  des  Portraits 
contains  a  complete  collection  of  the  portraits  of 
painters  dow'n  to  the  present  day.  In  general 
their  respective  countenances  are  expressive  of 
their  characters  and  style  of  painting.  Poor  Har- 
low's picture,  painted  by  himself  is  here. 

The  Dutch  and  Flemish  painters  (in  spite  of 
their  exquisite  pots  and  pans,  and  cabbages  and 
carrots,  their  birch-brooms,  in  which  you  can  count 
every  twig,  and  their  carpets,  in  which  you  can 
reckon  every  thread)  do  not  interest  me  ;  their 
landscapes  too,  however  natural,  are  mere  Dutch 
nature,  (with  some  brilliant  exceptions,)  fat  cattle, 
clipped  trees,  boors,  and  windmills.  Of  course  I 
am  not  speaking  of  Vandyke,  nor  of  Rubens,  he 


102  FLORENCE. 

that  "  in  the  colors  of  the  rainbow  lived,"  nor  of 
Rembrandt,  that  king  of  clouds  and  shadows  ;  but 
for  mine  own  part,  I  would  give  up  all  that  Micris, 
Netscher,  Teniers.  and  Gerard  Douw  ever  pro- 
duced, for  one  of  Claude's  Eden-like  creations,  or 
one  of  Guide's  lovely  heads — or  merely  for  the  plea- 
sure of  looking  at  Titian's  Flora  once  a  day,  I  would 
give  a  whole  gallery  of  Dutchmen,  if  I  had  them. 

In  the  daughter  of  Herodias,  by  Leonardo  da 
"Vinci,  there  is  the  same  eternal  face  he  always 
paints,  but  with  a  peculiar  expression — she  turns 
away  her  head  with  the  air  of  a  fine  lady,  whose 
senses  are  shocked  by  the  sight  of  blood  and  death, 
while  her  heart  remains  untouched  either  by  re- 
morse or  pity. 

His  ghastly  Medusa  made  me  shudder  while  it 
fascinated  me,  as  if  in  those  loathsome  snakes, 
writhing  and  glittering  round  the  expiring  head, 
and  those  abhorred  and  fiendish  abominations 
crawling  into  life,  there  still  lurked  the  fabled  spell 
■which  petrified  the  beholder.  Poor  Medusa  !  was 
this  the  guerdon  of  thy  love  ?  and  were  those 
the  tresses  which  enslaved  the  ocean's  lord  ?  Me- 
thinks  that  in  this  wild  mythological  fiction,  in  the 
terrific  vengeance  which  Minerva  takes  for  her 
profaned  temple,  and  in  the  undying  snakes  which 
forever  hiss  round  the  head  of  her  victim — there 
IS  a  deep  moral,  if  woman  would  lay  it  to  her 
heart. 

In    (xuercino's   Endymion,   the    very   mouth   i» 


FLORENCE.  103 

asleep  :  in  his   Sibyl  the  very  eyes  are  prophetic, 
and  glance  into  futurity. 

The  boyish,  but  divine  St.  John,  by  Raffaelle, 
did  not  please  me  so  well  as  some  of  his  portraits 
and  Madonnas  ;  his  Leo  the  Tenth,  for  instance, 
his  Julius  the  Second,  or  even  his  Fornarina  :  and 
I  may  observe  here,  tliat  I  admire  Titian's  taste 
nuich  more  than  Raffiielle's,  en  fait  de  maih'esse. 
The  Fornarina  is  a  mere  fernme  dupeuple,  a  coarse 
virago,  compared  to  the  refined,  the  exquisite  La 
Manto,  in  the  Pitti  Palace.  I  think  the  Flora  must 
have  been  painted  from  the  same  lovely  model,  as 
far  as  I  can  judge  from  compared  recollections,  for 
I  have  no  authority  to  refer  to.  The  former  is  the 
most  elegant,  and  the  latter  the  most  poetical 
female  portrait  I  ever  saw.  At  Titian's  Venus  in 
the  Tribune,  one  hardly  ventures  to  look  up  ;  it  is 
the  perfection  of  earthly  loveliness,  as  the  Venus  de' 
Medici  is  all  ideal — all  celestial  beauty.  In  the 
multiplied  copies  and  engravings  of  this  picture  I 
see  everywhere,  the  bashful  sweetness  of  the  coun- 
tenance, and  the  tender  languid  repose  of  the 
figure  are  made  coarse,  or  something  worse  :  de- 
graded, in  short,  into  a  character  altogether  unlike 
the  original. 

I  say  nothing  of  the  Gallery  of  the  Palazzo 
Pitti ;  which  is  not  a  collection  so  much  as  a  selec- 
tion of  the  most  invaluable  gems  and  masterpieces 
of  art.  The  imagination  dazzled  and  bewildered 
by  excellence  can  scarcely  make  a  choice — but  1 


104  FLORENCE. 

thiuk  the  Madonna  Delia  Seggiola  of  Raffaelle, 
Allori's  magnificent  Judith,  Guide's  Cleopatra,  and 
Salvator's  Catiline,  dwell  most  upon  my  memory. 

Nov.  24. — After  dinner,  we  drove  to  the  beauti- 
ful gardens  of  the  Villa  Strozzi,  on  the  Monte 
Ulivetto,  and  the  evening  we  spent  at  the  Coco- 
mero,  where  we  saw  a  detestable  opera,  capitally 
acted,  and  heard  the  most  vile,  noisy,  unmeanina 
music,  sung  to  perfection. 

28. — "  Corinne "  I  find  is  a  fashionable  vade 
mecum  for  sentimental  travellers  in  Italy ;  and  that 
I  too  might  be  a  la  mode,  I  brought  it  from  ISIolini's 
to-day,  with  the  intention  of  reading  on  the  spot, 
those  admirable  and  affecting  passages  which  relate 
to  Florence ;  but  when  I  began  to  cut  the  leaves, 
a  kind  of  terror  seized  me,  and  I  threw  it  down, 
resolved  not  to  open  it  again.  I  know  myself 
weak — I  feel  myself  unhappy ;  and  to  find  my  own 
feelings  reflected  from  the  pages  of  a  book,  in 
language  too  deeply  and  eloquently  true,  is  not 
good  for  me.  1  want  no  helps  to  admiration,  noi 
need  I  kindle  my  enthusiasm  at  the  torch  of 
another's  mind.  I  can  suffer  enough,  feel  enough, 
think  enough,  without  this. 

Not  being  well,  I  spent  a  long  morning  at  home, 
and  then  strayed  into  the  church  of  the  Santo 
Spirito,  which  is  near  our  hotel.  There  is  in  this 
church   a   fine    copy   of  IMichel    Angelo's    Pietk, 


FLORENCE.  106 

which  a  monk,  whom  I  met  in  the  church,  insisted 
was  the  original.  But  I  believe  the  orirjinalissimo 
group  is  at  Rome.  There  are  also  two  fine  pic- 
tures, a  marriage  of  the  Virgin,  in  a  very  sweet 
Guido-like  style,  and  the  woman  taken  in  adultery. 
This  church  is  the  richest  in  paintings  I  have  seen 
here.  I  remarked  a  picture  of  the  Virgin  said  to 
be  possessed  of  miraculous  powers;  and  that  part 
of  it  visible,  is  not  destitute  of  merit  as  a  painting; 
but  some  of  her  grateful  devotees,  having  decor- 
ated her  with  a  real  blue  silk  gown,  spangled  with 
tinsel  stars,  and  two  or  three  crowns,  one  above 
another,  of  gilt  foil,  the  efiect  is  the  oddest  imagin- 
able. As  I  was  sitting  upon  a  marble  step,  philos- 
ophizing to  myself,  and  wondering  at  what  seemed 
to  me  such  senseless  bad  taste,  such  pitiable  and 
ridiculous  superstition,  there  came  up  a  poor 
woman  leading  by  the  hand  a  pale  and  delicate 
boy,  about  four  years  old.  She  prostrated  herself 
before  the  picture,  while  the  child  knelt  beside  her, 
and  prayed  for  some  time  with  fervor ;  she  then 
lifted  him  up,  and  the  mother  and  child  kissed  the 
picture  alternately  with  great  devotion  ;  then  mak- 
ing him  kneel  down  and  clasp  his  httle  hands,  she 
began  to  teach  him  an  Ave  Maria,  repeating  it 
word  for  word,  slowly  and  distinctly,  so  that  I  got 
it  by  heart  too.  Having  finished  their  devotions, 
the  mother  put  into  the  child's  hands  a  piece  of 
money,  which  she  directed  him  to  drop  into  a  box, 
inscribed,  "  per  i  poveri    vergognosi " — "  for    the 


106  FLORENCE. 

bashful  poor ;  "  they  then  went  their  way.  T  was 
an  unperceived  witness  of  this  little  scene,  which 
strongly  aiiectcd  me :  the  simple  piety  of  this  poor 
woman,  though  mistaken  in  its  object,  appeared  to 
me  respectable ;  and  the  Virgin,  in  her  sky-blue 
brocade  and  her  gilt  tiara,  no  longer  an  object  to 
ridicule.  I  returned  home  rejoicing  in  kinder, 
gentler,  happier  thoughts ;  for  though  I  may  wish 
these  poor  people  a  purer  worship,  yet,  as  AVords- 
worth  says  somewhere,  far  better  than  I  could 
express  it — 

"  Rather  would  I  instantly  decline 
To  the  traditionary  sympathies 
Of  a  most  rustic  ignorance, — 
This  rather  would  I  do,  than  see  and  hear 
The  repetitions  wearisome  of  sense 
Where  soul  is  dead,  and  feeling  hath  no  place." 

The  Ave  Maria  which  I  learnt,  or  rather  stole 
from  my  poor  woman,  pleases  me  by  its  simplicity. 

AVE    MARIA. 

Dio  ti  salvi,  O  Maria,  plena  di  grazia  !  II  Sig- 
nore  e  teco  !  tu  sei  benedetta  fra  le  donne,  e  bene- 
detto  e  il  frutto  del  tuo  seno,  Gesu  !  Santa  Maria ! 
madre  di  Dio  !  Prega  per  noi  peccatori,  adesso,  e 
nell  'ora  della  nostra  morte !   e  cosi  sia.* 

*  Ilail,  0  Maria,  full  of  grace!  the  Lord  is  with  thee!  blessed 
art  thou  ftraoug  women,  and  blessed  is  the  fruit  of  thy  womb, 
even  Jesos  Iloly  Virgin  Mary,  mother  of  God!  pray  for  us  sin- 
ners—loth now  and  in  the  hour  of  death !     Amen. — '  Ed.] 


FLORENCE.  107 

*  *  *  *    '  * 

Sunday. — Attended  divine  service  at  the  Eng- 
lish ambassador's,  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  even- 
ing, not  being  well  enough  to  go  to  the  Cascine,  I 
remained  at  home.  I  sat  down  at  the  window  and 
read  Foscolo's  beautiful  poem,  "  I  sepoleri : "  the 
subject  of  my  book,  and  the  sight  of  Alfieri's  house 
meeting  my  eye  whenever  I  looked  up,  inspired 
the  idea  of  visiting  the  Santa  Croue  again,  and  I 
ventured  out  unattended.  The  streets,  and  partic- 
ularly the  Lung'  Arno,  were  crowded  with  gay 
people  in  their  holiday  costumes.  Not  even  our 
Hyde  Park,  on  a  summer  Sunday,  ever  presented 
a  more  lively  spectacle  or  a  better  dressed  mob.  I 
•was  often  tempted  to  turn  back  rather  than  en- 
counter this  movin<r  multitude ;  but  at  length  I 
found  my  way  to  the  Santa  Croce,  which  pre- 
sented a  very  different  scene.  The  service  M^as 
over;  and  a  few  persons  were  walking  up  and 
down  the  aisles*  or  kneeling  at  different  altars.  In 
a  chapel  on  the  other  side  of  the  cloisters,  they 
were  chanting  the  Via  Crucis ;  and  the  blended 
voices  swelled  and  floated  round,  then  died  away, 
then  rose  again,  and  at  length  sunk  into  silence. 
The  evening  was  closing  fast,  the  shadows  of  tlie 
heavy  pillars  grew  darker  and  darker,  the  tapers 
round  the  high  altar  twinkled  in  the  distance  like 
dots  of  light,  and  the  tombs  of  Michel  Angelo,  of 
Galileo,  of  Machiavelli,  and  Alfieri,  were  projected 
from  the  deep  shadow  in  indistinct  formless  masses : 


108  FLORENCE. 

but  I  needed  not  to  see  them  to  image  them  before 
me ;  for  with  each  and  all  my  fancy  was.  familiar. 
I  spent  about  an  hour  walking  up  and  down — 
abandoned  to  thoughts  which  were  melancholy, 
but  not  bitter.  All  memory,  all  feeling,  all  grief, 
all  pain  were  swallowed  up  in  the  sublime  tran- 
quillity which  was  within  me  and  around  me.  How 
could  I  think  of  myself,  and  of  the  sorrow  which 
swells  at  my  impatient  heart,  while  all  of  genius 
that  could  die,  was  sleeping  round  me ;  and  the 
spirits  of  the  glorious  dead — they  who  rose  above 
their  fellow-men  by  the  might  of  intellect — whose 
aim  was  excellence,  the  noble  end  "  that  made  am- 
bition virtue,"  were,  or  seemed  to  me,  present  ? — 
and  if  those  tombs  could  have  opened  their  pon- 
derous and  marble  jaws,  what  histories  of  sufferings 
and  persecution,  wrongs  and  wretchedness,  might 
they  not  reveal !    Galileo — 

chi  vide 
Sotto  I'etereo  padiglion  rotarsi 
Piu  moudi,  e  il  sole  iradiarli  immoto, 

pining  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition ;  Mat  hU 
avelli, 

quel  grande, 

Che  tempi'ando  lo  scettro  a'  regr  atori, 

Gil  ailor  ue  sfronda 

tortured  and  proscribed  ;  Michel  Angelo,  perse- 
«uted  by  envy;   and  Alfieri  perpetually  torn,  as  he 


FLORENCE.  109 

.''escribes  himself,  by  two  furies — "  Ira  e  Malin- 
conia  " — 

"  La  mente  e  il  cor  in  perpetua  lite." 

But  they  fulfilled  their  destinies  :  and  inexorable 
Fate  will  be  avenged  upon  the  favorites  of  Heaven 
and  nature.  I  can  remember  but  one  instance  in 
which  the  greatly  gifted  spirit  was  not  also  the 
conspicuously  wretched  mortal — our  own  divine 
Shakspeare — and  of  him  we  know  but  little. 

In  some  books  of  travels  I  have  met  with,  Boc- 
caccio, Aretino,  and  Guicciardini,  are  mentioned 
among  the  illustrious  dead  of  the  Santa  Croce. 
The  second,  if  his  biographers  say  true,  was  a 
wretch,  whose  ashes  ought  to  have  been  scattered 
in  the  air.  He  was  buried  I  believe  at  Venice — or 
no  matter  where.  Boccaccio's  tomb  is,  or  ivas^  at 
Certaldo ;  and  Guicciardini's — I  forget  the  name 
of  the  church  honored  by  his  remains — but  it  is 
not  the  Santa  Croce. 

The  finest  figure  on  the  tomb  of  Michel  Angelo 
is  Architecture.  It  should  be  contemplated  from  the. 
left,  to  be  seen  to  advantage.  The  effect  of  Al- 
fieri's  monument  depends  much  on  the  position  of 
the  spectator  :  when  viewed  in  front,  the  figure  of 
Italy  is  very  heavy  and  clumsy  ;  and  in  no  point 
of  view  has  it  the  gmce  and  delicacy  which  Can- 
ova's  statues  generally  possess. 

There  is  a  most  extraordinary  picture  in  this 
church,  representing  God  the  Father  supporting  a 


110  FLORENCE. 

dead  Christ,  by  Cigoli,  a  painter  little  known  in 
England,  though  I  have  seen  some  admirable  pic- 
tures of  his  in  the  collections  here  :  his  style  re- 
minds me  of  Spagnoletto's. 

***** 

Our  departure  is  fixed  for  Wednesday  next  • 
and  though  1  know  that  change  and  motion  are 
good  for  me,  yet  I  dread  the  fatigue  and  excite- 
ment of  travelling ;  and  I  shall  leave  Florence  with 
regret.  For  a  melancholy  invalid  like  myself,  there 
cannot  be  a  more  delightful  residence  :  it  is  gay 
without  tumult — quiet,  yet  not  dull.  I  have  not 
mingled  in  society ;  therefore  cannot  judge  of  the 
manners  of  the  people.  I  trust  they  are  not  exact- 
ly what  Forsyth  describes ;  with  all  his  taste  he 
sometimes  writes  like  a  caustic  old  bachelor;  and 
on  the  Florentines  he  is  peculiarly  severe. 

We  leave  our  friend  L.  behind  for  a  few  days, 
and  our  Venice  ac(juaintance  V.  will  be  our  com- 
pagnon  d-e  voycuje  to  Rome.  Of  these  two  young 
men,  the  first  amuses  me  by  his  follies,  the  latter 
rather  fatigues  de  Irop  de  raison.  The  first  talks 
tor  much,  the  latter  too  little  :  the  first  speaks,  and 
speaks  egregious  nonsense ;  the  latter  never  says 
any  thing  beyond  common-place  :  the  foiiner  al- 
ways makes  himself  ridiculous,  and  the  latter  never 
makes  himself  particularly  agreeable  :  the  first  is 
(ocn  r'lspetto  parlando)  a  great  fool,  and  the  latter 
would  be  pleasanter  were  he  less  wise.  Between 
these  two  opposkes,  I  was  standing  this  evening  on 


FLORENCE.  Ill 

the  banks  of  the  Arno,  contemplating  a  sunset  of 
unequalled  splendor.  L.  finding  that  enthusiasm 
was  his  cue,  played  off  various  sentimental  antics, 
peeped  through  his  fingers,  threw  his  head  on  one 
side,  exclaiming,  "  Magnificent,  by  Jove  !  grand  ! 
grandissimo !  It  just  reminds  me  of  what  Shaks- 
peare  says  :  '  Fair  Aurora  ' — I  forget  the  rest." 

V.  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  contemplated 
the  superb  spectacle — the  mountains,  the  valley, 
the  city  flooded  with  a  crimson  glory,  and  the  river 
flowing  at  our  feet  like  molten  gold — he  gazed  on 
it  all  with  a  look  of  placid  satisfaction,  and  then 
broke  out — "  Well !   this  does  one's  heart  good  !  " 

L.  (I  owe  him  this  justice,)  is  not  the  author  of 
the  famous  blunder  which  Is  now  repeated  in  every 
circle.  I  am  assured  it  was  our  neighbour.  Lord 
G.,  though  I  scarce  believe  it,  who,  on  being  pre- 
sented with  the  Countess  of  Albany's  card,  ex- 
claimed— "  The  Countess  of  Albany  !  Ah  ! — true — 
1  remember :  wasn't  she  the  widow  of  Charles  the 
Second,  who  married  Ariosto  ?  "  Tliere  is  in  this 
celebrated  bevue,  a  glorious  contusion  of  times  and 
persons,  beyond  even  my  friend  L.'s  capacity. 

The  whole  party  are  gone  to  the  Countess  of 
Albany's  to-night  to  take  leave  :  that  being,  as  L. 
says,  "  the  correct  thing."  Our  notions  of  corrtot- 
ncss  vary  with  country  and  climate.  What  Eng- 
lishwoman at  Florence  would  not  be  au  desespoir, 
to  be  shut  from  the  Countess  of  Albany's  parties — 


112  FLORENCE. 

though  it  is  a  known  and  indisputable  fact,  that  she 
was  never  married  to  Alfieri  ?  Apropos  d'Alfieri 
— I  have  just  been  reading  a  selection  of  his  trage- 
dies— his  Filippo,  the  Pazzi,  Virginia,  Mirra  ,•  and 
when  I  have  finished  Saul,  I  will  read  no  more  of 
them  for  some  time.  There  is  a  superabundance 
of  harsh  energy,  and  a  Avant  of  simplicity,  tender- 
ness, and  repose  throughout,  which  fatigues  me, 
until  admiration  becomes  an  effort  instead  of  a 
pleasurable  feeling.  Marochesi,  a  celebrated  tra- 
gedian, who,  Minutti  says,  understood  "  la  vera 
Jilosojia  della  comica"  used  to  recite  Alfieri's  trag- 
edies with  him  or  to  him.  Alfieri  was  himself  a 
liad  actor  and  declaimer.  I  am  surprised  that  the 
tragedy  of  IMirra  should  be  a  great  favorite  on  the 
stage  here.  A  very  young  actress,  who  made  her 
debut  in  this  character,  enchanted  the  whole 
city  by  the  admirable  manner  in  which  she 
performed  it ;  and  the  piece  was  played  for 
eighteen  nights  successively  :  a  singular  triumph 
for  an  actress,  though  not  uncommon  for  a  singer. 
In  spite  of  its  many  beauties  and  the  artful  man- 
agement of  the  story,  it  would,  I  think,  be  as  im- 
possible to  make  an  English  audience  endure  the 
Mirra,  as  to  find  an  English  actress  who  would  ex- 
hibit herself  in  so  revolting  a  part. 

***** 

Tuesday.— Onv  last  day  at  Florence.  I  walked 
down  to  the  San  Lorenzo  this  morning  early,  and 
made  a  sketch  of  the  sarcophagus  of  Lorenzo  de' 


FLORENCE.  113 

Medici.     Afterwards  we  spent  an  hour  in  the  gal- 
lery, and  bid  adieu  to  the  Venus — 

0  bella  Venere ! 

€he  sola  sei, 
Piacer  degli  uomini 

E  degli  dei  ! 

When  I  went  to  take  a  last  look  of  Titian's  Flora, 
I  found  it  renaoved  from  its  station,  and  an  artist 
employed  in  copying  it.  I  could  have  envied  the 
lady  for  whom  this  copy  was  intended ;  but  com- 
forted myself  with  the  conviction  that  no  hireling 
dauber  in  water-colors  could  do  justice  to  the 
heavenly  original,  which  only  wants  motion  and 
speech  to  live  indeed.  We  then  spent  nearly  two 
hours  in  the  Pitti  Palace ;  and  the  court  havinglately 
removed  to  Pisa,  we  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
Canova's  Venus,  which  is  placed  in  one  of  the 
Grand  Duke's  private  apartments.  She  stands  in 
the  centre  of  a  small  cabinet,  panelled  with  mir- 
rors, which  reflect  her  at  once  in  every  possible 
point  of  view.  This  statue  was  placed  on  the 
pedestal  of  the  Venus  de'  Medicis  during  her 
forced  resi  lence  at  Paris  ;  and  is  justly  considered 
as  the  triumph  of  modern  art :  but  though  a  most 
beautiful  creature,  she  is  not  a  goddess.  I  looked 
in  vain  for  that  full  divinity,  that  ethereal  some- 
thing which  breathes  round  the  Venus  of  the  Trib- 
une. In  another  private  room  are  two  magnificent 
landscapes  by  Salvator  Rosa. 


114  FLORENCE. 

Every  good  catholic  has  a  portrait  of  the  Virgin 
hung  at  the  head  of  his  bed  ;  partly  as  an  object 
of  devotion,  and  partly  to  scare  away  the  powers  of 
evil :  and  for  this  purpose  the  Grand  Duke  has 
suspended  by  his  bedside  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful of  Raffaelle's  Madonnas.  Truly,  I  admire  the 
good  taste  of  his  piety,  though  it  is  rather  selfish 
thus  to  appropriate  such  a  gem,  when  the  merest 
daub  would  answer  the  same  purpose.  It  was  only 
by  secret  bribery  I  obtained  a  peep  at  this  picture, 
as  the  room  is  not  publicly  shown. 

The  lower  classes  at  Florence  are  in  general  ill- 
looking  ;  nor  have  I  seen  one  handsome  woman 
since  I  came  here.  Their  costume  too  is  singularly 
unbecoming;  but  there  is  an  airy  cheerfulness  and 
vivacity  in  their  countenances,  and  a  civility  in 
their  manners  which  is  pleasing  to  a  stranger.  I 
was  surprised  to  see  the  women,  even  the  servant 
girls,  decorated  with  necklaces  of  real  pearl  of  con- 
siderable beauty  and  value.  On  expressing  my 
surprise  at  this  to  a  shopkeeper's  wife,  she  informed 
me  that  these  necklaces  are  handed  down  as  a  kind 
of  heir-loom  from  mother  to  daughter ;  and  a  young 
woman  is  considered  as  dowered  who  possesses  a 
handsome  chain  of  pearl.  If  she  has  no  hope  of  one 
in  reversion,  she  buys  out  of  her  little  earnings 
a  pearl  at  a  time,  till  slie  has  completed  a  neck- 
lace. 

The  style  of  swearing  at  Florence  is  peculiarly 
3legaut  and  classical.     I  hear  the  vagabonds  in  the 


FLORENCE.  115 

street  adjuring  Yenus  and  Bacchus  ;  and  my  shoe- 
maker swore  "  by  the  aspect  oF  Diana,"  that  he 
would  not  take  less  than  ten  pauls  for  what  was 
worth  about  three ; — yet  was  the  knave  forsworn. 
«  «  «  •  * 


!!6  JOUENKY   TO   ROME. 


JOrKNEY  TO  RCME. 

SOFFRI  E  TACT. 

Ye  empty  shadows  of  unreal  good ! 
Phantoms  of  joy! — too  long — too  far  pursued, 
Farewell !  no  longer  will  I  idly  mourn 
O'er  vanish'd  hopes  that  never  can  return; 
No  longer  pine  o'er  hoarded  griefs — nor  chide 
The  cold  vain  world,  whose  falsehood  I  have  tried. 
Me,  never  more  can  sweet  affections  move, 
Nor  smiles  awake  to  confidence  and  love: 
To  7«e,  no  more  can  disappointment  spring, 
Nor  wrong,  nor  scorn  one  bitter  moment  bring! 
With  a  firm  spirit — though  a  breaking  heart, 
Subdu'd  to  act  through  life  my  weary  part. 
Its  closing  scenes  in  patience  I  await. 
And  by  a  stern  endurance,  conquer  fate 

December  8. — In  beginning  another  volume,  I 
feel  almost  inclined  to  throw  the  last  into  the  fire ; 
as  in  writing  it  I  have  generally  begun  the  record 
of  one  day  by  tearing  away  the  half  of  what  was 
written  the  day  before :  but  though  it  contains 
much  that  I  would  rather  forget,  and  some  things 
written  under  the  impression  of  pain,  and  sick  and 
irritable  feelings,  I  will  not  yet  ungratefully  de- 
stroy it.     I   have   frequen*^ly   owed   to  my   little 


JOURNEY   TO    ROME.  117 

Diary  not  amusement  only,  but  consolation.  It  has 
gradually  become  not  only  the  foithful  depository 
of  my  recollections,  but  the  confidante  of  my 
feelings,  and  the  sole  witness  of  my  tears.  I  know 
not  if  this  be  wise :  but  if  it  be  folly,  I  have  the 
comfort  of  knowing  that  a  mere  act  of  my  will 
destroys  forever  the  record  of  my  weakness ;  and 
meantime  a  confidante  whose  mouth  is  sealed  with 
a  patent  lock  and  key,  and  whom  I  can  put  out 
of  existence  in  a  single  moment,  is  not  danger- 
ous; so,  as  Lord  Byron  elegantly  expresses  it, 
"  Here  goes." 

We  left  Florence  this  morning ;  and  saw  the  sun 
rise  upon  a  country  so  enchantingly  beautiful,  that 
I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  description :  but  I  felt  it, 
and  still  feel  it — almost  in  my  heart.  The  blue 
cloudless  sky,  the  sun  pouring  his  beams  upon  a 
land,  which  even  in  this  wintry  season  smiles  when 
others  languish — the  soft  varied  character  of  the 
scenery,  comprising  every  species  of  natural  beauty 
— the  green  slope,  the  woody  hill,  the  sheltered 
valley, — the  deep  dales,  into  which  we  could  just 
peep,  as  the  carriage  whirled  us  too  rapidly  by — • 
the  rugged  fantastic  rocks,  cultivated  plains,  and 
sparkling  rivers,  and,  beyond  all,  the  chain  of  the 
Apennines  with  light  clouds  floating  across  them, 
or  resting  in  their  recesses — all  this  I  saw,  and  felt, 
and  shall  not  forget. 

I  write  this  at  Arezzo,  the  birthplace  of  Pe- 
trarch, of  Redi,  of  Pignotti,  and  of  that  Guido  who 


118  JOURNEY   TO   ROME. 

discovered  Coimtei'-poinl.  Whether  Arezzo  is  ro- 
markable  for  any  thing  else,  I  am  too  sleepy  to 
recollect :  and  as  we  depart  early  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, it  would  only  tantalize  me  to  remember.  We 
arrived  here  late,  by  the  light  of  a  most  resplen- 
dent moon.  If  such  is  this  country  in  winter,  what 
must  It  be  in  summer  ? 

9th,  at  Perugia. — All  the  beauties  of  natural 
scenery  have  been  combined  with  historical  asso- 
ciations, to  render  our  journey  of  to-day  most  inter- 
esting; and  with  a  mind  more  at  ease,  nothing 
bad  been  wanting  to  render  this  one  of  the  most 
delightful  days  I  have  spent  abroad. 

At  Cortona,  Hannibal  slept  the  night  before  the 
battle  of  Thrasymene.  Soon  after  leaving  this 
town  on  our  left,  we  came  in  view  of  the  lake,  and 
the  old  tower  on  its  banks.  There  is  an  ancient 
ruin  on  a  high  eminenc^e  to  the  left,  which  our 
postilion  called  the  "  Forteressa  dl  Annibale  il 
Carthago."  Further  on,  the  Gualandra  hills  seem 
to  circle  round  the  lake  ;  and  here  was  the  scene 
of  the  battle.  The  channel  of  the  Sangulnetto, 
•which  then  ran  red  with  the  best  blood  of  Rome 
and  Carthage,  was  dry  when  we  crossed  it — 

"  And  hooting  boys  might  dry-shod  pass, 
"  And  gather  pebbles  from  the  naked  ford.  " 

While  we  traversed  the  field  of  battle  at  a  slow 
pace,  V.  who  had  his  Livy  in  his  pocket,  read 
aloud  his  minute  description  of  the  engagement; 


JOURNEY    TO    ROME.  119 

and  we  could  immediately  point  out  the  different 
places  mentioned  by  the  historian.  The  wliole 
valley  and  the  hills  around  are  now  covered  with 
olive  woods ;  and  from  an  olive-tree  which  grew 
close  to  the  edge  of  the  lake,  I  snatched  a  branch 
as  we  passed  by,  and  shall  preserve  it — -an  emblem 
of  peace,  from  the  theatre  of  slaughter.  The 
whole  landscape  as  we  looked  back  upon  it  from  - 
a  hill  on  this  side  of  the  Casa  del  Rano,  was  ex- 
ceedingly beautiful.  The  lake  seemed  to  slumber 
in  the  sunshine;  and  Passignano  jutting  into  the 
water,  with  its  castellated  buildings,  the  two  little 
woody  islands,  and  the  undulating  hills  enclosing 
the  wliole,  as  if  to  shut  it  from  the  world,  made  it 
look  Hke  a  scene  fit  only  to  be  peopled  b}'  fancy's 
fairest  creations,  if  the  remembrance  of  its  blood- 
stained glories  had  not  started  up,  to  rob  it  of  half 

its  beauty.      Mrs.  E, compared  it  to  the  lake 

of  Geneva ;  but  in  my  own  mind,  I  would  not 
admit  the  comparison.  The  lake  of  Geneva  stands 
alone  in  its  beauty ;  for  there  the .  sublimest  and 
the  softest  features  of  nature  are  united :  there  the 
wonderful,  the  wild,  and  the  beautiful,  blend  in  one 
mighty  scene  ;  and  love  and  heroism,  poetry  and 
genius,  have  combined  to  hallow  its  shores.  The 
lake  of  Perugia  is  far  more  circumscribed :  the 
scenery  around  it  wants  grandeur  and  extent; 
though  so  beautiful  in  itself,  that  if  no  comparison 
had  been  made,  no  want  would  have  been  sug- 
gested :  and  on  the  bloody  field  of  Thrasymene  I 


120  JOtTRNEY   TO   ROMB 

looked  •with  curiosity  and  interest  Unmingled  with 
pleasure.  I  have  long  survived  my  sympathy 
with  the  fighting  heroes  of  antiquity.  All  this  I 
thought  as  we  slowly  walked  up  the  hill,  but  I  was 
silent  as  usual :  as  Jaques  says,  "  I  can  think  of 
as  many  matters  as  other  men,  but  I  praise  God, 
and  make  no  boast  of  it."  We  arrived  here  too 
late  to  see  any  thing  of  the  city. 

Dec.  IQth,  at  Terni. — The  ridiculous  coritretemps 
we  sometimes  meet  with  would  be  matter  of  amuse- 
ment to  me,  if  they  did  not  affect  others.  And  in 
truth,  as  far  as  paying  well,  and  scolding  well,  can 
go,  it  is  impossible  to  travel  more  magnificently, 
more  a  la  inilor  Anglais  than  we  do:  but  there  is 
no  controlling  fate  ;  and  here,  as  our  evil  destinies 
will  have  it,  a  company  of  strolling  actors  had 
taken  possession  of  the  best  quarters  before  our 
arrival ;  and  our  accommodations  are,  I  must  con- 
fess, tolerably  bad. 

When  we  left  Perugia  this  morning,  the  city, 
throned  upon  its  lofty  eminence,  with  its  craggy 
rocks,  its  tremendous  fortifications,  and  its  massy 
gateways,  had  an  imposing  effect.  Forwards,  we 
looked  over  a  valley,  which  so  resembled  a  lake, 
the  hills  projecting  above  the  glittering  white  vapor 
having  the  appearance  of  islands  scattered  over 
its  surface,  that  at  the  first  glance,  I  was  posi- 
tively deceived  ;  and  all  my  topographical  knowl- 
edge, which  I  had  conned  on  the  map  the  night 
before,  completely  put  to  the  rout.     As  the  day 


JOURNEY   TO   ROME.  121 

advanced,  tli.s  white  mist  sank  gradually  to  the 
earth,  like  a  veil  dropped  from  the  form  of  a  beau- 
tiful woman,  and  nature  stood  disclosed  in  all  her 
loveliness. 

Trevi,  on  its  steep  and  cracrgy  hill,  detached 
from  the  chain  of  mountains,  looked  beautiful  as 
we  gazed  up  at  it,  Avith  its  buildings  mingled  with 
rocks  and  olives — 

I  had  written  thus  far  when  we  were  all  obliged 
to  decamp  in  haste  to  our  respective  bed-rooms; 
as  it  is  found  necessary  to  convert  our  salon  into  a 
dormitory.  I  know  I  shall  be  tired,  and  very  tired 
to-morrow, — therefore  add  a  few  words  in  pencil, 
before  the  impressions  now  fresh  on  my  mind  are 
obscured. 

After  Trevi  came  the  Clitumnus  with  its  little 
fairy  temple ;  and  we  left  the  carriage  to  view  it 
from  below,  and  drink  of  the  classic  stream.  The 
temple  (now  a  chapel)  is  not  much  in  itself,  and 
was  voted  In  bad  taste  by  some  of  our  party.  To 
me  the  tiny  fane,  the  glassy  river,  more  pure  and 
limpid  than  any  fabled  or  famous  fountain  of  old, 
the  beautiful  hills,  the  sunshine,  and  the  associa- 
tions connected  with  the  whole  scene,  were  en- 
chanting ;  and  I  could  not  at  the  moment  descend 
to  architectural  criticism. 

The  road  to  Spoleto  was  a  succession  of  olive 
grounds,  vineyards,  and  rich  woods.  The  vines 
with  their  skeleton  boughs  looked  wintry  and 
miserable  ;  but  the  olives,  now  in  full  fruit  and  foli- 


122  JOURNEY   TO   BOME. 

age,  intermixed  with  the  cypress,  the  ilex,  the  cork 
tree,  and  the  pine,  clothed  the  landscape  with  a 
many-tinted  robe  of  verdure. 

While  sitting  in  the  open  carriage  at  Spoleto, 
waiting  for  horses,  I  saw  one  of  that  magnificent 
breed  of  "  milk  white  steers,"  for  which  the  banks 
of  the  Clitumnus  have  been  famed  from  all  an- 
tiquity, led  past  me  gayly  decorated,  to  be  baited 
on  a  plain  without  the  city.  As  the  noble  creature, 
serene  and  unresisting,  paced  along,  followed  by  a 
wild,  ferocious-looking,  and  fjir  more  brutal  rabble, 
I  would  have  given  all  I  possessed  to  redeem  him 
from  his  tormentors ;  but  it  was  in  vain.  As  we 
left  the  city,  we  heard  his  tremendous  roar  of  agony 
and  rage  echo  from  the  rocks.  I  stopped  my 
ears,  and  was  glad  when  we  were  whirled  out 
of  hearing.  The  impression  left  upon  my  nerves 
by  this  renconti-e,  makes  me  dislike  to  remember 
Spoleto :  yet  I  believe  it  is  a  beautiful  and  in- 
teresting place.  Hannibal,  as  I  recollect,  be- 
sieged this  city,  but  was  bravely  repulsed.  I 
could  say  much  more  of  the  scenes  and  the  feel- 
ings of  to-day ;  but  my  pencil  refuses  to  mark 
another  letter. 


DbC.  11th,  at  Civita  Castellana. 
I  could  not  write  a  word  to-night  in   the  salon, 
because  I  wished  to  listen  to  the  conversation  of 
two  intelligent  travellers,  who,  arriving  after  us. 


JOURNEY   TO    ROME.  123 

were  obliged  to  occupy  the  same  apartment.  Our 
accommodations  here  are  indeed  deplorable  alto- 
gether. After  studying  the  geograpliy  of  my  bed, 
and  finding  no  spot  thereon,  to  which  Sancho's 
couch  of  pack-saddles  and  jDummels  would  not  be 
a  bed  of  down  in  comparison,  I  ordered  a  fresh 
fagot  on  my  hearth :  they  brought  me  some  ink 
in  a  gally-pot — invisible  ink — tor  I  cannot  see 
what  I  am  writing ;  and  I  sit  down  to  scribble, 
pour  me  desennuyer. 

This  morning  we  set  off  to  visit  the  Falls  of 
Terni  (La  cascata  di  Marmore)  in  two  carriages 
and  four  :  O  such  equipages ! — such  rat-like  steeds ! 
such  picturesque  accoutrements  I  and  such  poetical 
looking  guides  and  postilions,  ragged,  cloaked,  and 
whiskered ! — but  it  was  all  consistent  :  the  wild 
figures  harmonized  with  the  wild  landscape.  We 
passed  a  singular  forti'ess  on  the  top  of  a  steep  in- 
sulated rock,  which  had  formerly  been  inhabited 
by  a  band  of  robbers  and  their  families,  who  were 
■with  great  difficulty,  and  after  a  regular  siege,  dis- 
lodged by  a  party  of  soldiers,  and  the  place  dis- 
mantled. In  its  present  ruined  state,  it  has  a  very 
picturesque  eifect ;  and  though  the  presence  of 
the  banditti  would  no  doubt  have  added  greatly  to 
the  romance  of  the  scene,  on  the  present  occasion 
we  excused  their  absence. 

We  visited  the  falls  both  above  and  below,  but 
unfortunately  we  neither  saw  them  from  the  best 
point  of  view,   nor  at  the  best  season.     The  body 


124  JOURNKY   TO   ROME. 

of  wate/s  is  sometimes  ten  times  greater,  as  I  was 
assured — but  can  scarce  believe  it  possible.  The 
words  "  Hell  of  waters,"  used  by  Lord  Byron, 
would  not  have  occurred  to  me  while  looking  at 
this  cataract,  which  impresses  the  astonished  mind 
with  an  overwhelming  idea  of  power,  might,  mag- 
nificence, and  impetuosity ;  but  blends  at  the  same 
time  all  that  is  most  tremendous  in  sound  and  mo- 
tion, with  all  that  is  most  bright  and  lovely  iu 
forms,  in  colors,  and  in  scenery. 

As  I  stood  close  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice, 
immediately  under  the  great  fall,  I  felt  my  respira- 
tion gone:  I  turned  giddy,  almost  faint,  and  was 
obliged  to  lean  against  the  rock  for  support.  The 
mad  plunge  of  the  waters,  the  deafening  roar,  the 
presence  of  a  power  which  no  earthly  force  could 
resist  or  control,  struck  me  with  an  awe,  almost 
amounting  to  terror.  A  bright  sunbow  stood  over 
the  torrent,  which,  seen  from  below,  has  the  appear- 
ance of  a  luminous  white  arch  bending  from  rock 
to  rock.  The  whole  scene  was — but  how  can  I  say 
what  it  was  ?  I  have  exhausted  my  stock  of  fine 
words  ;  and  must  be  content  with  silent  recollec- 
tions, and  the  sense  of  admiration  and  wonder  un- 
expressed. 

Below  the  fall,  an  inundation  which  took  place  a 
year  ago,  undermined  and  carried  away  part  of  the 
banks  of  the  Nera,  at  the  same  time  laying  open  an 
ancient  Roman  bridge,  which  had  been  buried  for 
ages.     The  channel  of  the  river  and  the  depth  of 


JOURNEY   TO   KOME.  125 

the  soil  must  have  been  greatly  altered  since  this 
bridge  was  erected. 

When  we  returned  to  the  inn  at  Terni,  and 
while  the  horses  were  putting  to,  I  took  up  a  vol- 
ume of  Eustace's  tour,  which  some  traveller  had 
accidentally  left  on  the  table  ;  and  turning  to  the 
description  of  Terni,  read  part  of  it,  but  quickly 
threw  down  the  book  with  indignation,  deeming  all 
his  verbiage  the  merest  nonsense  I  had  ever  met 
with :  in  fact,  it  is  nonsense  to  attempt  to  image  in 
words  an  individual  scene  like  this.  When  we  had 
made  out  our  description  as  accurately  as  possible, 
it  would  do  as  well  for  any  other  cataract  in  the 
world;  we  can  only  combine  rocks,  wood,  and 
water,  in  certain  proportions.  A  good  picture  may 
give  a  tolerable  idea  of  a  particular  scene  or  land- 
scape :  but  no  picture,  no  painter,  not  Ruysdael 
himself,  can  give  a  just  idea  of  a  cataract.  The 
lifeless,  silent,  unmoving  image  is  there :  but  where 
is  the  thundering  roar,  the  terrible  velocity,  the 
glory  of  refracted  light,  the  eternity  of  sound,  and 
infinity  of  motion,  in  which  essentially  its  effect 
consists  ? 

In  the  valley  beneath  the  Falls  of  Terni,  there 
is  a  beautiful  retired  little  villa,  which  was  once 
occupied  by  the  late  Queen  Caroline  :  and  in  the 
gardens  adjoining  it,  we  gathered  oranges  from  the 
trees  ourselves  for  the  first  time.  After  passing 
Mount  Soracte,  of  classical  fame,  we  took  leave  of 
the  Apennines;  having  lived  amongst  them  ever 
since  we  left  Bologna. 


126 


The  costume  of  tliis  part  of  the  coantry  is  very 
gay  and  picturesque :  the  women  wear  a  white 
head-dress  formed  of  a  square  kerchief,  ^vhich 
hanjTS  down  upon  the  shoulders,  and  is  attaclied  to 
the  liair  by  a  silver  pin:  a  boddice  half  laced,  and 
decorated  with  knots  of  ribbon,  and  a  short  scarlet 
petticoat  complete  their  attire.  Between  Perugia 
and  TernI  I  did  not  see  one  woman  without  a  coral 
necklace  ;  and  those  who  have  the  power,  load 
themselves  with  trinkets  and  ornaments. 

Rome,  December  12. 
The  morning  broke  upon  us  so  beautifully  be- 
tween CIvIta  Castellana  and  NevI,  that  we  lauded 
our  good  fortune,  and  anticipated  a  glorious  ap- 
proach to  the  "  Eternal  City."  We  were  Impa- 
tient to  reach  the  heights  of  Baccano ;  from  which, 
at  the  distance  of  fifteen  miles,  we  were  to  view  the 
cross  of  St.  Peter's  glittering  on  the  horizon,  while 
the  postilions  rising  In  their  stirrups,  should  point 
forward  with  exultation,  and  exclaim  "  Roma  ! " 
But,  O  vain  hope  !  who  can  control  tlieir  fate  '? 
just  before  we  reached  Baccano,  impenetrable 
clouds  enveloped  the  whole  Campagna.  The  mist 
dissolved  into  a  drizzling  rain  ;  and  when  we  en- 
tered the  city.  It  poured  in  torrents.  Since  we  left 
England,  this  Is  only  the  third  time  It  has  rained 
while  we  were  on  the  road ;  it  seems  therefore  un- 
conscionable to  murmur.  But  to  lose  the  first 
view  of  Kome !  the  first  view  of  the  dome  of  St. 


ROME.  127 

Peter's !  no — that  lost  moment  will  never  be  re- 
trieved through  our  whole  existence. 

We  found  it  difficult  to  obtain  suitable  accommo- 
dation for  our  numerous  cortege,  the  Hotel  d'Eu- 
rope,  and  the  Hotel  de  Londres  being  quite  full : 
and  for  the  present  we  are  rather  iudiflerently 
lodged  in  the  Albergo  di  Parigi. 

So  here  we  are,  in  Rome  !  where  we  have  been 
for  the  last  five  hours,  and  have  not  seen  an  inch 
of  the  city  beyond  the  dirty  pavement  of  the  Via 
Santa  Croce  ;  where  an  excellent  dinner  cooked  a 
VAnfjlaise,  a  blazing  fire,  a  drawing-room  snugly 
carpeted  and  curtained,  and  the  rain  beating 
against  our  windows,  would  almost  persuade  us 
that  we  are  in  London  ;  and  every  now  and  then, 
it  is  with  a  kind  of  surprise  that  I  remind  myself 
that  I  am  really  in  Rome.  Heaven  send  us  but  a 
fine  day  to-morrow  ! 

13.  The  day  arose  as  beautiful,  as  brilliant,  as 
cloudless,  as  I  could  have  desired  for  the  first  day 
in  Rome.  About  seven  o'clock,  and  before  any 
one  was  ready  for  breakfast,  I  walked  out ;  and 
directing  my  steps  by  mere  chance  to  the  left, 
found  myself  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  and  oppo- 
site to  a  gigantic  flight  of  marble  stairs  leading  to 
the  top  of  a  hill.  1  was  at  the  summit  in  a  mo- 
ment ;  and  breathless  and  agitated  by  a  thousand 
feelings,  I  leaned  against  the  obelisk,  and  looked 
o^er  the  whole  city.  I  knew  not  where  I  was: 
nor   among   the   crowded   mass   of  buildings,   the 


1 28  ROME. 

innumerable  domes  and  towei-s,  and  vanes  and 
pinnacles,  brightened  by  the  ascending  sun,  could 
I  for  a  while  distinguish  a  single  known  object ; 
for  my  eyes  and  my  heart  were  both  too  full :  but 
in  a  few  minutes  mv  powers  of  perception  returned  ; 
and  in  the  huge  round  bulk  of  the  castle  of  St. 
Angelo,  and  the  immense  fa9ade  and  soaring  cu- 
pola of  St.  Peter's,  I  knew  I  could  not  be  mistaken. 
I  gazed  and  gazed  as  if  T  would  have  drunk  it  all 
in  at  my  eyes :  and  then  descending  the  superb 
flight  of  steps  rather  moi-e  leisurely  than  I  had 
ascended,  I  was  in  a  moment  at  the  door  of  our 
hotel. 

The  rest  of  the  day  I  wish  I  could  forget — I 
found  letters  from  England  on  the  breakfast  table — 

Until  dinner  time  we  were  driving  through  the 
narrow  dirty  streets  at  the  mercy  of  a  stupid  laquais 
cle  place,  in  search  of  better  accommodations,  but 
without  success  :  and,  on  the  whole,  I  fear  I  shall 
always  remember  too  well  the  disagreeable  and 
painful  impressions  of  my  first  day  in  Rome. 

Dec.  18. — A  week  has  now  elapsed,  and  I  begin 
to  know  and  feel  Rome  a  little  better  than  I  did. 
The  sites  of  the  various  buildings,  the  situations  of 
the  most  interesting  objects,  and  the  bearings  of 
the  principal  hills,  the  Capitol,  the  Palatine,  the 
Aventine,  and  the  ^squiline,  have  become  famihar 
to  me,  assisted  in  my  perambulations  by  an  excel- 
lent plan.    I  have  been  disappointed  in  nothing, 


129 


rbr  I  expected  that  the  general  appearance  of 
Modern  Rome  would  be  mean ;  and  that  the  im- 
pression made  by  the  ancient  city  would  be  mel- 
ancholy ;  and  I  had  been,  unfortunately,  too  well 
prepared,  by  previous  reading,  for  all  I  see,  to  be 
astonished  by  any  thing  except  the  Museum  of  the 
\'atican. 

1  entered  St.  Peter's  expecting  to  be  struck 
dumb  with  admiration,  and  accordingly  it  was  so. 
A.  feeling  of  vastness  filled  my  whole  mind,  and 
made  it  disagreeable,  almost  impossible  to  speak 
or  exclaim :  but  it  was  a  style  of  grandeur,  excit- 
ing rather  than  oppressive  to  the  imagination,  nor 
did  I  experience  any  thing  like  that  sombre  and 
reverential  awe  I  have  felt  on  entering  one  of  our 
Gothic  minsters.  The  interior  of  St.  Peter's  is  all 
airy  magnificence,  and  gigantic  splendor ;  light 
and  sunshine  pouring  in  on  every  side ;  gilding 
and  gay  colors,  marbles  and  pictures,  dazzling 
the  eye  above,  below,  around.  The  efiect  of  the 
whole  has  not  diminished  in  a  second  and  third 
visit;  but  rather  grows  upon  me.  I  can  never 
utter  a  word  for  the  first  ten  minutes  after  I  enter 
the  church. 

For  the  Museum  of  the  Vatican,  I  confess  I 
was  totally  unprepared ;  and  the  first  and  second 
time  I  walked  through  the  galleries,  I  was  so 
amazed — so  intoxicated,  that  I  could  not  fix  my 
attention  upon  any  individual  object,  except  the 
Apollo,  upon  which,  as  I  walked  along   confused 


180  ROME. 

and  lost  in  wonder  and  enchantment,  I  stumbled 
acddcntally,  and  stood  spell-bound.  Gallery  be- 
yond gallery,  hall  within  hall,  temple  within  tem- 
ple, new  splendors  opening  at  every  step  ;  of  all 
the  creations  of  luxurious  art,  the  Museum  of  the 
Vatican  may  alone  defy  any  description  to  do  it 
justice,  or  any  fancy  to  conceive  the  unimaginable 
variety  of  its  treasures.  When  I  remember  that 
the  French  had  the  audacious  and  sacrilegious 
vanity  to  snatch  from  these  glorious  sanctuaries  the 
finest  specimens  of  art,  and  hide  them  in  their  vil- 
lanous  old  gloomy  Louvre,  I  am  confounded. 

I  have  been  told  and  can  well  believe,  that  the 
whole  giro  of  the  galleries  exceed  two  miles. 

I  have  not  yet  studied  the  frescos  of  Raffaelle 
sufficiently  to  feel  all  their  perfection  ;  and  should 
be  in  despair  at  my  own  dulness,  were  I  not  con- 
soled by  the  recollection  of   Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  j 
At  present,  one  of  Raffaelle's  divine  Virgins  de-             »« 
lights  me   more  than  all  his  camere  and  logie  to-           '% 
gether ;    but  I  can  look  upon  them  with  due  ven- 
eration, and  grieve  to  see  the  ravages  of  time  and 
damp.                                                                              ^/^ 
*             *             *             *             *              '  -''' 

19. — Last  night  we  took  advantage  of  a  bril- 
liant full  moon  to  visit  the  Coliseum  by  moon- 
light ;  and  if  I  came  away  disappointed  of  the 
pleasure  I  had  expected,  the  fault  was  not  in  me 
nor  in  the  scene  around  me.  In  its  sublime  and 
heart-stirring   beauty,   it   more    than    equalled,   i< 


131 


surpassed  all  I  bad  anticipated — ^but — (there  must 
always  be  a  hut !  always  in  the  realities  of  this 
world  something  to  disgust ; )  it  happened  that 
one  or  two  gentlemen  joined  our  party — young 
men  too,  i.nd  classical  scholars,  who  perhaps 
thought  it  fine  to  affect  a  well-bred  nonchalance, 
a  fashionable  disdain  for  all  romance  and  enthusi- 
asm, and  amused  themselves  with  quizzing  our 
guide,  insulting  the  gloom,  the  grandeur,  and  the 
silence  around  them,  with  loud  impertinent  laugh- 
ter at  their  own  poor  jokes ;  and  I  was  obliged  to 
listen,  sad  and  disgusted,  to  their  empty  and  taste- 
less and  misplaced  flippancy.  The  young  bare- 
footed friar,  with  his  dark  Ian  thorn,  and  his  black 
eyes  flashing  from  under  his  cowl,  who  acLed  as  our 
cicerone,  was  in  picturesque  unison  with  the  scene; 
but — more  than  one  murder  having  lately  been 
committed  among  the  labyrinthine  recesses  of  the 
ruin,  the  government  has  given  orders  that  every 
person  entering  after  dusk  should  be  attended  by  a 
guard  of  two  soldiei'S.  These  fellows  therefore 
necessarily  walked  close  after  our  heels,  smoking, 
spitting,  and  spluttering  German.  Such  were  my 
companions,  and  such  was  my  cortege.  I  returned 
home  vowing  that  while  I  remained  at  Rome, 
nothing  should  induce  me  to  visit  the  Coliseum  by- 
moonlight  again. 

To-day  I  was  standing  before  the  Laocoon 
with  Rogers,  who  remarked  that  the  absence  of 
bU  parental  feeling  in  the  aspect  of  Laocoon,  hia 


132 


self-engrossed  indifference  to  the  sufferings  of  his 
children  (which  is  noticed  and  censured,  I  think, 
by  Dr.  IMoore)  adds  to  the  pathos,  if  properly 
considered,  by  giving  the  strongest  possible  idea  of 
that  'physical  agony  which  the  sculptor  intended 
to  represent.  It  may  be  so,  and  I  thought  there 
■was  both  truth  and  tacte  in  the  poet's  observa- 
tion. 

The  Perseus  of  Canova  does  not  please  me  so 
■well  as  his  Paris ;  there  is  more  simplicity  and  re- 
pose in  the  latter  statue,  less  of  that  theatrical  air 
which  I  think  is  the  common  fault  of  Canova's 
figures. 

It  is  absolutely  necessary  to  look  at  the  Perseua 
before  you  look  at  the  Apollo,  in  order  to  do 
the  former  justice.  I  have  gazed  with  admira- 
tion at  the  Perseus  for  minutes  together,  then 
walked  from  it  to  the  Apollo,  and  felt  instanta- 
neously, but  could  not  have  expressed,  the  differ- 
ence. The  first  is  indeed  a  beautiful  statue,  the 
latter  "  breathes  the  flame  with  which  'twas 
"wrought,"  as  if  the  sculptor  had  left  a  portion  of 
his  own  soul  within  the  marble  to  half  animate  his 
glorious  creation.  The  want  of  this  informing  life 
is  strongly  felt  in  the  Perseus,  when  contemplated 
after  the  Apollo.  It  is  delightful  when  the  imagi- 
nation rises  in  the  scale  of  admiration,  when  we 
ascend  from  excellence  to  perfection  :  but  excel- 
lence after  perfection  is  absolute  inferiority  ;  it 
sinks  below  itself,  and  the  descent  is  so  disagre»>- 


ROME.  133 

able  and  disappointing,  that  we  can  seldom  estimate 
justly  the  object  before  us.  We  make  compari- 
sons involuntarily  in  a  case  where  comparisons 
are  odious. 

***** 

The  weather  is  cold  here  during  the  prevalence 
of  the  tramontana:  but  I  enjoy  the  brilliant  skies 
and  the  delicious  purity  of  the  air,  which  leaves 
the  eye  free  to  wander  over  a  vast  extent  of  space. 
Looking  from  the  gallery  of  the  Belvedere  at  sun- 
set this  evening,  I  clearly  saw  Tivoli,  Albano,  and 
Frascati,  although  all  Rome  and  part  of  the  Cam- 
pagna  lay  between  me  and  those  towns.  Tlie  out- 
lines of  every  building,  ruin,  hill,  and  wood,  were 
so  distinctly  marked,  and  stood  out  so  brightly  to 
the  eye  !  and  the  full  round  moon,  magnified 
through  the  purple  vapor  which  floated  over  the 
Apennines,  rose  just  over  Tivoli,  adding  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  O  Italy  !  how  I  wish  I 
could  transport  hither  all  I  love  !  how  I  wish  I 
were  well  enough,  happy  enough,  to  enjoy  all  the 
lovely  things  I  see  !  but  pain  is  mingled  with  all 
I  behold,  all  I  feel :  a  cloud  seems  forever  before 
my  eyes,  a  weight  forever  presses  down  my  heart. 
I  know  it  is  wrong  to  repine  :  and  that  I  ought 
rather  to  be  thankful  for  the  pleasurable  sensations 
yet  spared  to  me,  than  lament  that  they  are  so 
few.  When  I  take  up  my  pen  to  record  the  im- 
pressions of  the  day,  I  sometimes  turn  within  my- 
self, and  wonder  how  it  is  possible  that  amid  the 


134 


(Strife  of  feelings  not  all  subdued,  and  the  despond- 
ing of  the  heart,  the  mind  should  still  retain  its 
faculties  unobscured,  and  the  imagination  all  ita 
vivacity  and  its  susceptibility  to  pleasure, — like 
the  beautiful  sunbow  I  saw  at  the  Falls  of  Terni, 
bending  so  bright  and  so  calm  over  the  verge  of 
the  abyss  which  toiled  and  raged  below. 

^  ¥^  y^  ^  T^ 

22. — This  morning  was  devoted  to  the  Capitol, 
•where  the  objects  of  art  are  ill  arranged  and  too 
crowded  :  the  lights  are  not  well  managed,  and  on 
the  whole  I  could  not  help  wishing,  in  spite  of 
my  veneration  for  the  Capitol,  that  some  at  least 
among  the  divine  master-pieces  it  contains  could 
be  transferred  to  the  glorious  halls  of  the  Vatican, 
and  shrined  in  temples  worthy  of  them. 

The  objects  which  most  struck  me  were  the 
dying  Gladiator,  the  Antinous,  the  Flora,  and  the 
statue  called  (I  know  not  on  what  authority)  the 
Faun  of  Praxiteles. 

The  dying  Gladiator  is  the  chief  boast  of  the 
Capitol.  The  antiquarian  NIbby  insists  that  this 
statue  represents  a  Gaul,  that  the  sculpture  is 
Grecian,  that  it  formed  part  of  a  group  on  a  pedi- 
ment, representing  the  vengeance  which  Apollo 
took  on  the  Gauls,  when,  under  their  king  Brennus, 
they  attacked  the  temple  of  Delphi :  that  the  cord 
round  the  neck  is  a  twisted  chain,  an  ornament 
peculiar  to  the  Gauls  ;  and  that  the  form  of  the 
shield,  the  bugles,  the  style  of  the  hair,  and  thp 


ROME.  135 

mustachios,  all  prove  it  to  be  a  Gaul.  I  asked, 
"  why  should  such  faultless,  such  exquisite  sculp- 
ture be  thrown  away  upon  a  high  pediment  ?  "  the 
affecting  expression  of  the  countenance,  the  head 
'  bowed  low  and  full  of  death,'  the  gradual  failure 
of  the  strength  and  sinking  of  the  form,  the  blood 
slowly  trickling  from  his  side — how  could  any 
spectator,  contemplating  it  at  a  vast  height,  be 
sensible  of  these  minute  traits — the  distinguishing 
perfections  of  this  matchless  statue  ?  "  It  was  re- 
plied that  many  of  the  ancient  buildings  were  so 
constructed,  that  it  was  possible  to  ascend  and  ex- 
amine the  sculpture  above  the  cornice,  and  though 
some  statues  so  placed  were  unfinislied  at  the  back, 
(for  instance,  some  of  the  figures  which  belonged 
to  the  group  of  Niobe,)  others  (and  he  mentioned 
the  ^gina  marbles  as  an  example)  were  as  highly 
finished  behind  as  before.  I  owned  myself  un- 
willing to  consider  the  Gladiator  a  Gaul,  but  the 
reasoning  struck  me,  and  I  am  too  unlearned  to 
weigh  the  arguments  he  used,  much  less  confute 
them.  That  the  statue  being  of  Grecian  marble 
and  Grecian  sculpture  must  therefore  have  come 
from  Greece,  does  not  appear  a  conclusive  argu- 
ment, since  the  Romans  commonly  employed 
Greek  artists  :  and  as  to  the  rest  of  the  argument, 
- — suppose  that  in  a  dozen  centuries  hence,  the 
charming  statue  of  Lady  Louisa  Russell  should 
be  discovered  under  the  ruins  of  Woburn  Abbey, 
and  that  by  a  parity  of  reasoning,  the  production 


136 


of  Chdn trey's  chisel  should  be  attribuled  co  Italy 
and  Canova,  merely  because  it  is  cut  from  a  block 
of  Carrara  marble  ?  we  might  smile  at  such  a  con- 
clusion. 

Among  the  pictures  in  the  gallery  of  the  Capi- 
tol, the  one  most  highly  valued  pleases  me  least  of 
all — the  Europa  of  Paul  Veronese.  The  splendid 
coloring  and  copious  fancy  of  this  master  can 
never  reconcile  me  to  his  strange  anomalies  in 
composition,  and  his  sins  against  good  taste  and 
propriety.  One  wishes  that  he  had  allayed  the 
heat  of  his  fancy  with  some  cooling  drops  of  dis- 
cretion. Even  his  coloring,  so  admired  in  gen- 
eral, has  something  florid  and  meretricious  to  my 
eye  and  taste. 

One  of  the  finest  pictures  here  Is  Domeni- 
chino's  Cumean  Sibyl,  which,  like  all  other  mas- 
terpieces, defies  the  copyist  and  engraver.  The 
SiblUa  Persica  of  Guercino  hangs  a  little  to  the 
left ;  and  with  her  contemplative  air,  and  the  pen 
in  her  hand,  she  looks  as  if  she  were  recording  the 
effusions  of  her  more  inspired  sister.  The  former 
is  a  chaste  and  beautiful  picture,  full  of  feeling 
and  sweetly  colored  ;  but  the  vicinity  of  Domeni- 
chino's  magnificent  creation  throws  It  rather  Into 
shade.  Two  unfinished  pictures  upon  which 
Guldo  was  employed  at  the  time  of  his  death  are 
preserved  In  the  Capitol  :  one  is  the  Bacchus  and 
Ariadne,  so  often  engraved  and  copied  ;  the  other, 
a  single  figure,  the  size  of  life,  represents  the  Soul 


137 


of  the  righteous  inaa  ascending  to  heaven.  Had 
Guido  lived  to  finish  this  divine  picture,  it  would 
have  been  one  of  his  most  splendid  productions ; 
but  he  was  snatched  away  to  realize,  I  trust,  in 
his  own  person,  his  sublime  conception.  The 
head  alone  is  finished,  or  nearly  so ;  and  has  a 
most  extatic  expression.  The  globe  of  the  earth 
seems  to  sink  from  beneath  the  floating  figure, 
which  is  just  sketched  upon  the  canvas,  and  has  a 
shadowy  indistinctness  which  to  my  fancy  added 
to  its  eflect.  Guercino's  chef-d'oeuvre,  the  Res- 
urrection of  Saint  Petronilla,  (a  saint,  I  believe, 
of  very  hypothetical  fame,)  is  also  here  ;  and  has 
been  copied  in  mosaic  for  St.  Peter's.  A  magnif- 
icent Rubens,  the  She  Wolf  nursing  Romulus 
and  Remus  ;  a  fine  copy  of  RaSaelle's  Triumph 
of  Galatea  by  Giulo  Romano  ;  Domenichlno's 
Saint  Barbara,  with  the  same  lovely  inspired  eyes 
he  always  gives  his  female  saints,  and  a  long  et 
cetera. 

From  the  Capitol  we  immediately  drove  to  the 
Borghese  palace,  where  I  spent  half  an  hour  look- 
ing at  the  picture  called  the  Cumean  Sibyl  of  Do- 
menichino,  and  am  more  and  more  convinced  that 
it  is  a  Saint  Cecilia  and  not  a  Sibyl. 

We  have  now  visited  the  Borghese  palace  four 
times ;  and  apropos  to  pictures,  I  may  as  well 
make  a  few  memoranda  of  its  contents.  It  is  not 
the  most  numerous,  but  it  is  by  far  the  most  valu- 
able and  select  private  gallery  in  Rome. 


133  ROME. 

Domenichino's  Chase  of  Diana,  with  the  two 
beautiful  nymphs  in  the  foreground,  is  a  splendid 
picture.  Titian's  Sacred  and  Profane  Lovo  puzzlea 
me  completely  :  I  neither  understand  the  name  nor 
the  intention  of  the  picture.  It  is  evidently  alle- 
gorical :  but  an  allegory  very  clumsily  expressed. 
The  aspect  of  Sacred  Love  would  answer  just  as 
well  for  Profane  Love.  What  is  that  little  Cupid 
about,  who  is  groping  in  the  cistern  behind  ?  why 
does  Profane  Love  wear  gloves  ?  The  picture, 
though  so  provokingly  obscure  in  its  subject,  is 
most  divinely  painted.  The  three  Graces  by  the 
same  master  is  also  here;  two  heads  by  Giorgione, 
distinguished  by  all  his  peculiar  depth  of  character 
and  sentiment,  some  exquisite  Albanos ;  one  of 
Eaffaelle's  finest  portraits — and  in  short,  an  end- 
less variety  of  excellence.  I  feel  my  taste  become 
more  and  more  fastidious  every  day. 

This  morning  we  heard  mass  at  the  Pope's 
Chapel ;  the  service  was  read  by  Cardinal  Fasche, 
and  the  venerable  old  pope  himself,  robed  and 
mitred  en  grand  costume.,  was  present.  No  females 
are  allowed  to  enter  without  veils,  and  we  were 
very  ungallantly  shut  up  behind  a  sort  of  grating, 
where,  though  we  had  a  tolerable  view  of  the  cere- 
monial going  forward,  it  was  scarcely  possible  for 
us  to  be  seen.  Cardinal  Gonsalvi  sat  so  near  us. 
that  I  had  leisure  and  opportunity  to  contemplate 
the  fine  intellectual  head  and  acute  features  of  this 


139 


remarkable  man.     I  thought  his  countenance  had 
something  of  the  Wellesley  cast. 

The  Pope's  Chapel  is  decorated  in  the  most  ex- 
quisite taste;  splendid  at  once  and  chaste.  There 
are  no  colors — the  whole  interior  being  white  and 
gold. 

At  an  unfortunate  moment,  Lady  Morgan's 
ludicrous  description  of  the  twisting  and  untwist- 
ing of  the  Cardinal's  tails  came  across  me,  and 
made  me  smile  very  mal  apropos :  it  is  certainly 
from  the  life.  Whenever  this  lively  and  clever 
woman  describes  what  she  has  actually  seen  with 
her  own  eyes,  she  is  as  accurately  true  as  she  is 
witty  and  entertaining.  Her  sketches  after  nature 
are  admirable  ;  but  her  observations  and  inferences 
are  colored  by  her  peculiar  and  rather  unfeminine 
habits  of  thinking.  I  never  read  her  "Italy  "  till 
the  other  day,  when  L.,  whose  valet  had  contrived 
to  smuggle  it  into  Rome,  offered  to  lend  it  to  me. 
It  is  one  of  the  books  most  rigorously  proscribed 
here  ;  and  if  the  Padre  Anfbssi  or  any  of  his  satel- 
lites had  discovered  it  in  my  hands,  I  should  as- 
suredly have  been  fined  in  a  sum  beyond  what  I 
should  have  liked  to  pay. 

We  concluded  the  morning  at  St.  Peter's,  where 
we  arrived  in  time  for  the  anthem. 

***** 

23. — Our  visit  to  the  Barberini  palace  to-day 
was  solely  to  view  the  famous  portrait  of  Beatrice 
Cenci.     Her  appalling  story  is  still  as  fresh  in  re- 


140  KOME. 

membrance  here,  and  her  name  and  fate  as  fa- 
miliar in  the  mouths  of  every  class,  as  if  instead  ot 
two  centuries,  she  had  lived  two  days  ago.  In 
spite  of  the  innumerable  copies  and  prints  I  have 
seen,  I  was  more  struck  than  I  can  express  by  the 
dying  beauty  of  the  Cenci.  In  the  face,  the  ex- 
pression of  heart-sinking  anguish  and  terror  is  just 
not  too  strong,  leaving  the  loveliness  of  the  counte- 
nance unimpaired;  and  there  is  a  woe-begone 
negligence  in  the  streaming  hair  and  loose  drapery 
which  adds  to  its  deep  pathos.  It  is  consistent  too 
with  the  circumstances  under  which  the  picture 
is  traditionally  said  to  have  been  painted — that  is, 
in  the  interval  between  her  tortui-e  and  her  exe- 
cution. 

A  little  daughter  of  the  Princess  Barberini  was 
seated  in  the  same  room,  knitting.  She  was  a 
beautiful  little  creature  ;  and  as  my  eye  glanced 
from  her  to  the  picture  and  back  again,  I  fancied 
I  could  trac-e  a  strong  family  resemblance  ;  par- 
ticularly about  the  eyes,  and  the  very  peculiar 
mouth.  I  turned  back  to  ask  her  whether  she  had 
ever  been  told  that  she  was  like  that  picture  ? 
pointing  to  the  Cenci.  She  shook  back  her  long 
curls,  and  answered  with  a  blush  and  a  smile, 
"  yes,  often."  * 

*  The  family  of  the  Cenci  was  a  branch  of  the  house  of  Co- 
lonna,  now  extinct  in  the  direct  male  line.  The  last  Prince  Co- 
lonna  left  two  daughters,  co-herresses,  of  whom  one  married  the 
Prince   Sciarra,   and   the  other  the   Prince  Barberini.     In   thia 


The  Barberini  palace  contains  other  treasures 

beside  the  Cenci.     Poussin's  celebrated  picture  of 

the   Death   of  Germanicus,  Raffaelle's  Fornarina, 

inferior  I  thought  to  the  one  at  Florence,  and  a 

St.   Andrew  by  Guido,  in  his  very  best  style  of 

heads,    "  mild,   pale,   and    penetrating ; "    besides 

others  which  I  cannot  at  this  moment  recall. 
*  *  *  *  * 

24. — Yesterday,  after  chapel,  I  walked  through 
part  of  the  Vatican  ;  and  then,  about  vesper-time, 
entered  St.  Peter's,  expecting  to  hear  the  anthem : 
but  I  was  disappointed.  I  found  the  church  as 
usual  crowded  with  English,  who  every  Sunday 
convert  St.  Peter's  into  a  kind  of  Hyde  Park, 
where  they  promenade  arm  in  arm,  show  off  their 
finery,  laugh,  and  talk  aloud  :  as  if  the  size  and 
splendor  of  the  edifice  detracted  in  any  degree 
from  its  sacred  character.  I  was  struck  with  a 
feeling  of  disgust  ;  and  shocked  to  see  this  most 
glorious  temple  of  the  Deity  metamorphosed  into 
a  mere  theatre.  Mr.  W.  told  me  this  morning, 
that  in  consequence  of  the  shameful  conduct  of 
the  English,  in  pressing  in  and  out  of  the  chapel, 
occupying  all  the  seats,  irreverently  interrupting 
the  service,  and  almost  excluding  the  natives,  the 
anthem  will  not  be  sungc  in  future. 


manner  the  portrait  of  Beatrice  Cenci  came  into  the  Barberini 
Eunily.  The  authenticity  of  this  interesting  picture  has  been 
disputed:  but  last  night  after  hearing  the  point  extremely  well 
contested  by  two  intelligent  men,  I  remained  c  nvinced  of  ita 
autheutici'v 


142  ROME. 

This  is  not  the  first  time  that  the  behavior  of 
the  English  has  created  oQ'ence,  in  spite  of  the 
friendly  feeling  which  exists  towards  us,  and  the 
allowances  which  are  made  for  our  national  char- 
acter. Last  year  the  pope  objected  to  the  in- 
decent custom  of  making  St.  Peter's  a  place  of 
fashionable  rendezvous,  and  notified  to  Cardinal 
Gonsalvi  his  desire  that  English  ladies  and  gentle- 
men should  not  be  seen  arm  in  arm  walking  up 
and  down  the  aisles,  during  and  after  divine  ser- 
vice. The  cardinal,  as  the  best  means  of  pro- 
ceeding, spoke  to  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  who 
signified  the  wishes  of  the  Papal  Court  to  a  large 
party,  assembled  at  her  house.  The  hint  so  ju- 
diciously and  so  delicately  given,  was  at  the  time 
attended  to,  and  during  a  short  interval  the  oflcnce 
complained  of  ceased.  New  comers  have  since  re- 
commenced the  same  course  of  conduct :  and  in 
fact,  nothing  could  be  worse  than  the  exhibition  of 
gayety  and  frivolity,  gallantry  and  coquetterie  at 
St.  Peter's  yesterday.  I  almost  wish  the  pope  may 
interfere,  and  with  rigor;  though,  individually,  I 
should  lose  a  high  gratification,  if  our  visits  to  St. 
Peter's  Avere  interdicted.  It  is  surely  most  ill- 
judged  and  unfeeling,  (to  say  nothing  of  th^  prof- 
anation, for  such  it  is,)  to  show  such  open  con- 
tempt for  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  in  its  holiest, 
grandest  temple,  and  under  the  very  eyes  of  the 
head  of  that  church.  I  blushed  for  my  country- 
wouien. 

***** 


143 


On  Christmas  Eve  v/e  went  in  a  large  party  to 
visit  some  of  the  principal  churches,  and  witness 
the  celebration  of  the  Nativity ;  one  of  the  most 
splendid  ceremonies  of  the  Romish  Church.  We 
arrived  at  the  chapel  of  INIonte  Cavallo  about  half- 
past  nine  :  but  the  pope  being  ill  and  absent,  noth- 
ing particular  was  going  forward  ;  and  we  left  it 
to  proceed  to  the  San  Luigi  dei  Francesi,  where 
we  found  the  church  hung  from  the  floor  to  the 
ceiling  with  garlands  of  flowers,  blazing  with  light, 
and  resounding  with  heavenly  music  :  but  the 
crowd  was  intolerable,  the  peo])le  dirty,  and  there 
was  such  an  effluence  of  strong  perfumes,  in  which 
garlic  predominated,  that  our  physical  sensations 
overcame  our  curiosity  :  and  we  were  glad  to  make 
our  escape.  We  then  proceeded  to  the  church  of 
the  Ara  Celi,  built  on  the  site  of  the  temple  of  Ju- 
piter Capitolinus,  and  partly  from  its  ruins.  The 
scene  here  from  the  gloomy  grandeur  and  situation 
of  the  church,  was  exceedingly  fine  :  but  we  did 
not  stay  long  enough  to  see  the  concluding  pro- 
cession, as  we  were  told  it  would  be  much  finer  at 
the  Santa  Maria  Maggiore ;  for  there  the  real 
manger  which  had  received  our  Saviour  at  his 
birth  was  deposited  :  and  this  inestimable  relic  Avas 
to  be  displayed  to  the  eyes  of  the  devout :  and 
wi/h  a  waxen  figure  laid  within,  (called  here  II 
Bambino,)  was  to  be  carried  In  procession  round 
the  church,  "  with  pomp,  with  music,  and  with 
triumphing." 


144 


The  real  cradle  was  a  temptation  not  to  be  with 
stood :  and  to  witness  this  signal  prostration  of  the 
human  intellect  before  ignorant  and  crafty  super- 
stition, we  adjourned  to  the  Santa  Maria  Maggiore. 
For  processions  and  shows  I  care  very  little,  but  not 
for  any  thing,  not  for  all  I  suffered  at  the  moment, 
would  I  have  missed  the  scene  which  the  interior 
of  the  church  exhibited ;  for  It  Is  impossible  that 
any  description  could  have  given  me  the  faintest 
idea  of  it.  This  most  noble  edifice,  with  its  perfect 
proportions,  its  elegant  Ionic  columns,  and  its  ma- 
jestic simplicity,  appeared  transformed,  for  the 
time  being,  into  the  temple  of  some  Pagan  divinity. 
Lights  and  flowers,  incense  and  music,  were  all 
around  :  and  the  spacious  aisles  were  crowded  with 
the  lowest  classes  of  the  people,  the  inhabitants  of 
the  neighboring  hills,  and  the  peasantry  of  the 
Campagna,  who,  with  their  wild  ruffiau-like  fig- 
ures and  picturesque  costumes,  Avere  lounging 
about,  or  seated  at  the  bases  of  pillars,  or  praying 
before  the  altars.  How  I  wished  to  paint  some  of 
the  groups  I  saw  !  but  only  Rembrandt  could  have 
done  them  justice. 

We  remained  at  the  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  till 
four  o'clock,  and  no  procession  appearing,  our  pa- 
tience was  exhausted.  I  nearly  fainted  on  my 
chair  from  excessive  fatigue ;  and  some  of  our 
patty  had  absolutely  laid  themselves  down  on  the 
steps  of  an  altar,  and  were  fast  asleep  ;  we  there- 
fore returned  home,  completely  knocked  up  by  the 
night's  dissipation. 


ROME.  145 

27. — "  Come,"  said  L.  just  now,  as  he  drew  his 
chair  to  the  fire,  and  rubbed  his  hands  with  great 
complacency,  "  I  think  we've  worked  pretty  hard 
to-day ;  three  palaces,  four  churches — besides  odds 
and  ends  of  ruins  we  dispatched  in  the  way  :  to 
say  nothing  of  old  Nibby's  lectures  in  the  morning 
about  the  Voices,  the  Saturnines,  the  Albanians, 
and  the  other  old  Romans — by  Jove !  I  almost 
fancied  myself  at  school  again 

^Armis  vitrumque  canter, 

as  old  Virgil  or  somebody  else  says.  So  now  let's 
have  a  little  ecart6  to  put  it  all  out  of  our  heads : 
—for  my  brains  have  turned  round  like  a  windmill, 
by  Jove  !  ever  since  I  was  on  the  top  of  that  cursed 
steeple  on  the  capitol,"  &c.,  &c. 

I  make  a  resolution  to  myself  every  morning 
before  breakfast,  that  I  will  be  prepared  with  a 
decent  stock  of  good-nature  and  forbearance,  and 
not  laugh  at  my  friend  L.'s  absurdities  ;  but  in 
vain  are  my  amiable  intentions :  his  blunders  and 
his  follies  surpass  all  anticipation,  as  they  defy  all 
powers  of  gravity.  I  console  myself  with  the  con- 
viction that  such  is  his  slowness  of  perception  he 
does  not  see  that  he  is  the  butt  of  every  party  ;  and 
such  his  obtuseness  of  feeling,  that  if  he  did  see  it, 
he  would  not  mind  it ;  but  he  is  the  heir  to  twenty- 
five  thousand  a  year,  and  therefore,  as  R.  said,  he 
can  afford  to  be  laughed  at. 

We  "  dispatched,"  as  L.  says,  a  good  deal  to- 
10 


146 


day,  though  I  did  not  "  work  quite  so  liard "  as 
the  rest  of  the  party :  in  fact,  I  was  obliged  to 
return  home  from  fatigue,  after  having  visited  the 
Doria  and  Sciarra  Palaces,  (the  last  for  the  second 
time,)  and  the  church  of  San  Pietro  in  VIncoli. 

The  Doria  Palace  contains  the  largest  collection 
of  pictures  in  Rome  :  but  they  are  in  a  dirty  and 
jieglected  condition,  and  many  of  the  best  are 
hung  in  the  worst  possible  light :  added  to  this 
there  is  such  a  number  of  bad  and  indifferent  pic- 
tures, that  one  ought  to  visit  the  Doria  Gallery 
half  a  dozen  times  merely  to  select  those  on  which 
a  cultivated  taste  would  dwell  with  pleasure. 
Leonardo  da  Vinci's  portrait  of  Joanna  of  Naples, 
is  considered  one  of  the  most  valuable  pictures  in 
the  collection.  It  exhibits  the  same  cast  of  coun- 
tenance which  prevails  through  all  his  female 
heads,  a  sort  of  sentimental  simpering  aflfectatlon 
which  is  very  disagreeable,  and  not  at  all  consist- 
ent with  the  character  of  Joanna.  I  was  much 
more  delighted  by  some  magnificent  portraits  by 
Titian  and  Rubens  ;  and  by  a  copy  of  the  famous 
antique  picture,  the  Nozze  Aldobrandini,  executed 
in  a  kindred  spirit  by  the  classic  pencil  of  Poussln. 

The  collection  at  the  Sciarra  Palace  is  small, 
but  very  select.  The  pictures  are  hung  with  judg- 
ment, and  well  taken  care  of  The  Magdalen, 
which  is  copsidered  one  of  Guido's  masterpieces, 
charmed  me  most :  the  countenance  is  heavenly  : 
though  full  of  extatic   and  devout   contemplation, 


147 


there  is  in  it  a  touch  of  melancholy,  "  all  sorrow's 
softness  charmeJ  from  its  despair/'  which  is  quite 
exquisite  :  and  the  attitude,  and  particularly  the 
turn  of  the  arm,  are  perfectly  graceful :  but  Tvhy 
those  odious  turnips  and  carrots  in  the  fore-ground  ? 
They  certainly  do  not  add  to  the  sentiment  and 
beauty  of  the  picture.  Leonardo  da  Vinci's 
Vanity  and  Modesty,  and  Caraviy^Io's  Gamblers, 
both  celebrated  pictures  in  very  ditferent  styles, 
are 'in  this  collection.  I  ought  not  to  forget  Raf 
faelle's  beautiful  portrait  of  a  young  musician  who 
was  his  intimate  friend.  The  Doria  and  Sciarra 
palaces  con  tarn  the  only  Claudes  I  have  seen  in 
Rome.  Since  the  acquisition  of  the  Altieri 
Claudes,  we  may  boast  of  possessing  the  finest 
productions  of  this  master  in  England.  I  remem- 
ber but  one  solitary  Claude  in  the  Florentine  gal- 
lery ;  and  I  see  none  here  equal  to  those  at  Lord 
Grosvenor's  and  Angerstein's.  We  visited  the 
church  of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  to  see  Michel 
Angelo's  famous  statue  of  Moses, — of  which,  who 
has  not  heard  ?  I  must  confess  I  never  was  so 
disappointed  by  any  work  of  art  as  I  was  by  this 
statue,  which  is  easily  accounted  for.  In  the  first 
place,  I  had  not  seen  any  model  or  copy  of  the 
original ;  and,  secondly,  I  had  read  Zappi's  sub- 
lime sonnet,  Avhich  I  humbly  conceive  does  rather 
more  than  justice  to  Its  subject.  The  fine  open- 
ing-■ 

"  Chi  e  cestui  che  iti  dura  pietra  scolto 

Siede  Giyanie" — 


148  ROME. 

gave  me  the  impression  of  a  colossal  and  elevated 
figure :  my  surprise,  therefore,  was  great  to  see  a 
sitting  statue,  not  much  larger  than  life,  and  placed 
nearly  on  the  level  of  the  pavement ;  so  that  in- 
stead of  looking  up  at  it,  I  almost  looked  down 
upon  it.  The  "  Doppio  raggio  in  fronte,"  I  found 
in  the  shape  of  a  pair  of  horns,  which,  at  the  first 
glance,  gave  something  quite  Satanic  to  the  head, 
which  disgusted  me.  When  I  began  to  recover 
from  this  first  disappointment — although  my  eyes 
were  opened  gradually  to  the  sublimity  of  the 
attitude,  the  grand  forms  of  the  drapery,  and  the 
lips,  which  unclose  as  if  about  to  speak — I  still 
think  that  Zappi's  sonnet  (his  acknowledged  chef- 
d'oeuvre)  is  a  more  sublime  production  than  the 
chef-d'oeuvre  it  celebrates. 

The  mention  of  Zappi  reminds  me  of  his  wife, 
the  daughter  of  Carlo  Maratti,  the  painter.  She 
was  so  beautiful  that  she  was  her  father's  favorite 
model  for  his  Nymphs,  Madonnas,  and  Vestal 
Virgins  ;  and  to  her  charms  she  added  virtue,  and 
to  her  virtue  uncommon  musical  and  literary 
talents.  Among  her  poems,  there  is  a  sonnet  ad- 
dressed to  a  lady,  once  beloved  by  her  husband, 
beginning 

"  Donna!  che  tanto  al  mio  sol  piacesti," 

tvhich  is  one  of  the  most  graceful,  most  feeling, 
most  delicate  compositions  I  ever  read.  Zappi 
selebrates  his  beautiful  wife  under  the  name  of 


149 


Clori,  and  his  first  mistress  uader  that  of  Filli  : 
to  the  latter  he  has  addressed  a  sonnet,  which  turns 
on  the  same  thouglit  as  Cowley's  well-known  song, 
"  Love  in  thine  eyes."  As  they  both  lived  about 
the  same  time,  it  would  be  hard  to  tell  which  of 
the  two  borrowed  from  the  other ;  probably  they 
•were  both  borrowers  from  some  elder  poet. 

The  characteristics  of  Zappi's  style,  are  tender- 
ness and  elegance :  he  occasionally  rises  to  sub- 
limity ;  as  in  the  sonnet  on  the  Statue  of  Moses, 
and  that  on  Good  Friday.  He  never  emulates 
the  flights  of  Guido  or  Filieaja,  but  he  Is  more 
uniformly  graceful  and  flowing  than  either :  his 
happy  thoughts  are  not  spun  out  too  far, — and  his 
points  are  seldom  mere  concetti. 


T>1   GIAMBATTISTA   ZAPPI. 

Amor  s'asside  alia  mia  Filli  accanto. 
Amor  la  segue  o\'iinque  i  passi  gira : 
In  lei  parla,  in  lei  tace,  in  lei  sospira, 
Anzi  in  lei  vive,  ond'eUa  ed  ei  pub  tauto. 

Amore  i  vezzi,  amor  le  insegna  il  canto ; 
E  se  mai  diiolsi,  o  se  pur  mai  s'  adira, 
Da  lei  non  parte  amor,  anzi  se  mira 
Amor  ne  le  belle  ii'e,  amor  nel  piauto 

Se  awien  che  danzi  in  regolato  errore, 
Darle  il  moto  al  bel  piede,  amor  riveggio, 
Come  I'auretto  quando  muove  un  fiore. 


150 


Le  veggio  in  fronte  amor  come  in  suo  seggio, 
Sul  crin,  negli  occhi,  su  le  labbra  araoie, 
Soi  d'iutomo  al  suo  cuore,  amor  non  veggio. 


TRANSLATION,  EXTEMPORE,  OF  THE   FOREGOING 
SONNET. 

Love,  by  my  fair  one's  side  is  ever  seen, 
He  hovers  round  her  steps,  where'er  she  strays, 
Breathes  in  her  voice,  and  in  her  silence  speaks, 
Around  her  lives,  and  lends  her  all  his  arms. 

Love  is  in  every  glance — Love  taught  her  song; 
And  if  she  weep,  or  scorn  contract  her  brow, 
Still  Love  departs  not  from  her,  but  is  seen 
Even  in  her  lovely  anger  and  her  tears. 

When,  in  the  mazy  dance  she  glides  along. 
Still  Love  is  near  to  poise  each  graceful  step : 
So  breathes  the  zephyr  o'er  the  yielding  flower. 

Love  in  her  brow  is  throned,  plays  in  her  hair, 
Darts  from  her  eye  and  glows  upon  her  lip. 
But,  oh !  he  never  yet  approached  her  heart. 

After  beinfj  confined  to  the  house  for  three  days, 
partly  by  indisposition,  and  partly  by  a  vile  sirocco, 
Jvhich  brought,  as  usual,  vapors,  clouds,  and  blue 
devils  in  its  train — this  most  lovely  day  tempted 
me  out ;  and  I  walked  v^ith  V.  over  the  Monte 
Cavallo  to  the  Forum  of  Trajan.  After  admiring 
the  view  from  the  summit  of  the  pillar,  we  went  on 


ROME.  151 

towards  the  Capitol,  which  presented  a  singular 
scene  :  the  square  and  street  in  front,  as  well  aa 
the  immense  flight  of  steps,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
in  number,  which  lead  to  the  church  of  the  Ara 
Ceh,  were  crowded  with  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, all  in  their  holiday  dresses.  It  was  with 
difficulty  we  made  our  way  through  them,  though 
they  very  civilly  made  way  for  us,  and  we  were 
nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  mounting  the  steps,  so 
dense  was  the  multitude  ascending  and  descend- 
ing, some  on  their  hands  and  knees  out  of 
extra-devotion.  At  last  we  reached  the  door  of 
the  church,  where  we  understood,  from  the  ex- 
clamations and  gesticulations  of  those  of  whom  we 
inquired,  something  extraordinary  was  to  be  seen. 
On  one  side  of  the  entrance  was  a  puppet  show, 
on  the  other,  a  band  of  musicians,  playing  "  Di 
tanti  palpati."  The  interior  of  the  church  was 
crowded  to  suffocation  ;  and  all  in  darkness,  except 
the  upper  end,  where,  upon  a  stage  brilliantly  and 
very  artificially  lighted  by  unseen  lamps,  there 
was  an  exhibition  in  wax-work,  as  large  as  life,  of 
the  Adoration  of  the  Shepherds.  The  Virgin  was 
habited  in  the  court  dress  of  the  last  century,  as 
rich  as  silk  and  satin,  gold  lace,  and  paste  diamonds 
could  make  it,  with  a  flaxen  wig,  and  high-heeled 
shoes.  The  infant  Saviour  lay  in  her  lap,  his 
head  encircled  with  rays  of  gilt  wire,  at  least  two 
yards  long.  The  shepherds  were  very  well  done, 
but  th'i  sheep  and  dogs  best  of  all ;  I  believe  they 


"62 


were  the  leal  animals  stuffed.  There  was  a  distant 
landscape  seen  between  the  pasteboard  trees  which 
was  well  painted,  and  from  the  artful  disposition  of 
the  light  and  perspective,  was  almost  a  deception — 
but  by  a  blunder  veiy  consistent  with  the  rest  of 
the  show,  it  represented  a  part  of  the  Campagna 
of  Rome.  Above  all  was  a  profane  representation 
of  that  Being,  whom  I  dare  scarcely  allude  to,  in 
conjunction  with  such  preposterous  vanities,  encir- 
cled with  saints,  angels,  and  clouds :  the  whole  got 
up  very  hke  a  scene  in  a  pantomime,  and  accompa- 
nied by  music  from  a  concealed  orchestra,  which 
was  intended,  I  believe,  to  be  sacred  music,  but 
sounded  to  me  like  some  of  Rossini's  airs.  In 
front  of  the  stage  there  was  a  narrow  passage 
divided  off,  admitting  one  person  at  a  time,  through 
■which  a  continued  file  of  persons  moved  along, 
who  threw  down  their  contributions  as  they  passed, 
bowing  and  crossing  themselves  with  great  devo- 
tion. It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the 
ecstasies  of  the  multitude,  the  lifting  up  of  hands 
and  eyes,  the  sti-ing  of  superlatives — the  bellissi- 
mos,  santissimos,  gloriosissimos,  and  maravigliosissi- 
mos,  with  which  they  expressed  their  applause  and 
delight.  I  stood  in  the  background  of  this  strange 
scene,  supported  on  one  of  the  long-legged  chairs 
tvhich  V**  placed  for  me  against  a  pillar,  at  onco 
amazed,  diverted,  and  disgusted  by  this  display  of 
profaneness  and  superstition,  till  the  heat  and 
crowd  overcame  me,  and  I  was  obliged  to  leave  the 


153 


churoh.  I  shall  never  certainly  forget  the  "  Bam- 
bino "  of  the  Ara  Ceh :  for  though  the  exhibition  I 
saw  afterwards  at  the  San  Luigi  (where  I  went  to 
look  at  Domenichino's  fine  pictures)  surpassed 
what  I  have  just  described,  it  did  not  so  much  sur- 
prise me.  Something  in  the  same  style  is  exhibited 
in  almost  every  church,  between  Christmas  day 
and  the  Epiphany. 

During  our  examination  of  Trajan's  Forum  to- 
day, I  learnt  nothing  new,  except  that  Trajan 
levelled  part  of  the  Quirinal  to  make  room  for  it. 
The  ground  having  lately  been  cleared  to  the 
depth  of  about  twelve  feet,  part  of  the  ancient 
pavement  has  been  discovered,  and  many  frag- 
ments of  columns  s^et  upright :  pieces  of  frieze  and 
broken  capitals  are  scattered  about.  The  pillar, 
which  is  now  cleared  to  the  base,  stands  in  its  orig- 
inal place,  but  not,  as  it  is  supposed,  at  its  original 
level,  for  the  Romans  generally  raised  the  substruc- 
ture of  their  buildings,  in  order  to  give  them  a 
more  commanding  appearance.  The  antiquarians 
here  are  of  opinion  that  both  the  pavement  of  the 
Basilica  and  the  base  of  the  pillar  were  raised 
above  the  level  of  the  ancient  street,  and  that 
there  is  a  flight  of  steps,  still  concealed,  between 
the  piUar  and  the  pavement  in  front.  The  famous 
Ulpian  Library  was  on  each  side  of  the  Basilica, 
and  the  Forum  difiered  from  other  Forums  in  not 
being  an  open  space  surrounded  by  buildings,  but 
a  building  surrounded  by  an  open  space. 


154  ROME. 

***** 

Dec.  31. — Jan.  1. — That  hour  in  which  we  pass 
ft'orn  one  year  to  another,  and  begin  a  new  account 
with  ourselves,  with  our  fellow-creatures,  and  with 
God,  must  surely  bring  some  solemn  and  serious 
thoughts  to  the  bosoms  of  the  most  happy  and  most 
unreflecting  among  the  trifles  on  this  earth.  What 
then  nmst  it  be  to  me  ?  The  first  hour,  the  first 
moment  of  the  expiring  year  was  spent  in  tears,  in 
distress,  in  bitterness  of  heart — as  it  began  so  it 
ends.  Days,  and  weeks,  and  months,  and  seasons, 
came  and  "  passed  like  visions  to  their  viewless 
home,"  and  brought  no  change.  Through  the 
compass  of  the  whole  year  I  have  not  enjoyed  one 
single  day — I  will  not  say  of  happiness — but  of 
health  and  peace  ;  and  what  I  have  endured  has 
left  me  little  to  learn  in  the  way  of  sufiering. 
AVould  to  Heaven  that  as  the  latest  minutes  now 
ebb  away  while  I  write,  memory  might  also  pass 
away  !  Would  to  Heaven  that  I  could  efiace  the 
last  year  from  the  series  of  time,  hide  it  from  myself, 
bury  it  in  oblivion,  stamp  it  into  annihilation,  that 
none  of  its  dreary  moments  might  ever  rise  up 
again  to  haunt  me,  like  spectres  of  pain  and  dis- 
may !  But  this  is  wrong — I  feel  it  is — and  I 
repent,  I  recall  my  wish.  That  great  Being,  to 
whom  the  life  of  a  human  creature  is  a  mere  point, 
but  who  has  bestowed  on  his  creatures  such  capaci- 
ties of  feeling  and  suffering,  as  extend  moments  to 
hours,  and  days  to  years,  inflicts  nothing  in  vain. 


155 


and  if  I  have  suffered  much,  I  have  also  learned 
much.  Now  the  last  hour  is  past — another  yeai 
opens  :  may  it  bring  to  those  I  love  all  I  wish  them 
in  my  heart !  to  me  it  can  bring  nothing.  The 
only  blessing  I  hope  from  time  \s  for  get  fulness  !  my 
only  prayer  to  heaven  is — rest,  rest,  rest ! 

***** 

Jan.  4. — We  dispatched,  as  L*  *  would  say,  a 
good  deal  to-day :  we  visited  the  Temple  of  Vesta, 
the  Church  of  Santa  Maria  in  Cosmadino,  the 
Temple  of  Fortune,  the  Ponte  Rotto,  and  the  house 
of  Nicolo  Ricnzi :  all  these  lie  together  in  a  dirty, 
low,  and  disagreeable  part  of  Rome.  Thence  we 
drove  to  the  Pyramid  of  Caius  Cestus.  As  we 
know  nothing  of  this  Caius  Cestus,  but  that  he 
lived,  died,  and  was  buried,  it  is  not  possible  to 
attach  any  fanciful  or  classical  interest  to  his  tomb, 
but  it  is  an  object  of  so  much  beauty  in  itself,  and 
from  its  situation  so  striking  and  picturesque,  that 
it  needs  no  additional  interest.  It  is  close  to  the 
ancient  walls  of  Rome,  which  stretch  on  either  side 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach  in  huge  and  broken 
masses  of  brick- woi'k,  fragments  of  battlements  and 
buttresses,  overgrown  in  many  parts  with  shrubs, 
and  even  trees.  Around  the  base  of  the  Pyramid 
lies  the  burying-gj-ound  of  strangers  and  heretics. 
Many  of  the  monuments  are  elegant,  and  their  frail 
materials  and  diminutive  forms  are  in  affecting 
contrast  with  the  lofty  and  solid  pile  which  towers 
ftbove  them.     The  tombs  lie  around   in  a  small 


156 


space  "  amicably  close,"  like  brothers  in  exile,  and 
as  I  gazed  I  felt  a  kindred  feeling  with  all ;  for  I 
too  am  a  wanderer,  a  stranger,  and  a  heretic  ;  and 
it  is  probable  that  my  place  of  rest  may  be  among 
them.  Be  it  so  !  for  methinks  this  earth  could  not 
afford  a  moi'e  lovely,  a  more  tranquil,  or  more 
Baered  spot.  I  remarked  one  tomb,  which  is  an 
exact  model,  and  in  the  same  material  with  the 
sarcophagus  of  Cornelius  Scipio,  in  the  Vatican. 
One  small  slab  of  white  marble  bore  the  name  of  a 
young  girl,  an  only  child,  who  died  at  sixteen,  and 
"  left  her  parents  disconsolate :  "  another  elegant 
and  simple  monument  bore  the  name  of  a  young 
painter  of  genius  and  promise,  and  was  erected 
"  by  his  companions  and  fellow-students  as  a  testi- 
mony of  their  affectionate  admiration  and  regret." 
This  part  of  old  Rome  is  beautiful  beyond  descrip- 
tion, and  has  a  wild,  desolate,  and  poetical  grandeur, 
which  affects  the  imagination  like  a  dream.  The 
very  air  disposes  one  to  reverie.  I  am  not  sur- 
prised that  Poussin,  Claude,  and  Salvator  Rosa 
made  this  part  of  Rome  a  favorite  haunt,  and 
studied  here  their  finest  effects  of  color,  and  their 
grandest  combinations  of  landscape.  I  saw  a  young 
artist  seated  on  a  pile  of  ruins  with  his  sketch  book 
open  on  his  knee,  and  his  pencil  in  his  hand — dur- 
ing the  whole  time  we  were  there  he  never  changed 
his  attitude,  nor  put  his  pencil  to  the  paper,  but 
remained  leaning  on  his  elbow,  like  one  lost  in 
ecstasy. 


157 


Jan.  5. — To-day  we  drove  through  the  quarter 
of  the  Jews,  called  the  Ghetta  degli  Ebrel.  It  is  a 
long  street  enclosed  at  each  end  ■with  a  strong 
iron  gate,  which  is  locked  by  the  police  at  a  cer- 
tain hour  every  evening ;  (I  believe  at  10  o'clock  ;) 
and  any  Jew  found  without  its  precincts  after  that 
time,  is  liable  to  punishment  and  a  heavy  fine 
The  street  is  narrow  and  dirty,  the  houses  wretched 
and  ruinous,  and  the  appearance  of  the  inhabitants 
squalid,  filthy,  and  miserable — on  the  whole,  it  was 
a  painful  scene,  and  one  I  should  have  avoided,  had 
I  followed  my  own  inclinations.  If  this  specimen 
of  the  effects  of  superstition  and  ignorance  was 
depressing,  the  next  was  not  less  ridiculous.  We 
drove  to  the  Lateran  :  I  had  frequently  visited  this 
noble  Basilica  before,  but  on  the  present  occasion, 
we  were  to  go  over  it  in  form,  with  the  usual  tor- 
ments of  laquais  and  ciceroni.  I  saw  nothing  new 
but  the  cloisters,  which  remain  exactly  as  in  the 
time  of  Constantlne.  They  are  in  the  very  vilest 
style  of  architecture,  and  decorated  with  Mosaic 
in  a  very  elaborate  manner :  but  what  most  amused 
us  was  the  collection  of  relics,  said  to  have  been 
brought  by  Constantine  from  the  Holy  Land,  and 
which  our  cicerone  exhibited  with  a  sneering 
solemnity  which  made  it  very  doubtful  whether  he 
believed  himself  in  their  miraculous  sanctity. 
Here  is  the  stone  on  which  the  cock  was  perched 
wnen  it  crowed  to  St.  Peter,  and  a  pillar  from  the 
Temple  of  Jerusalem,  split  asunder  at   the  time  of 


158 


the  crucifixion;  it  looks  as  if  it  had  been  sawed 
very  accurately  in  half  from  top  to  bottom;  but 
this  of  course  only  renders  it  more  miraculous. 
Here  is  also  the  column  in  front  of  Pilate's  house, 
to  which  our  Saviour  was  bound,  and  the  very 
well  where  he  met  the  woman  of  Samai-ia.  All 
these,  and  various  other  relics,  supposed  to  be  con- 
secrated by  our  Saviour's  Passion,  are  carelessly 
thrown  into  the  cloisters — not  so  the  heads  of  St. 
Peter  and  St.  Paul,  which  are  considered  as  the 
chief  treasures  in  the  Lateran,  and  are  deposited 
in  the  body  of  the  church  in  a  rich  shrine.  The 
beautiful  sarcophagus  of  red  porphyry,  which  once 
stood  in  the  portico  of  the  Pantheon,  and  contained 
the  ashes  of  Ai^rippa,  is  now  in  the  Corsini  chapel 
here,  and  encloses  the  remains  of  some  Pope 
Clement.  The  bronze  equestrian  statue  of  !Mar- 
cus  Aurelius,  which  stands  on  the  Capitol,  was  dug 
from  the  cloisters  of  the  Lateran.  The  statue  of 
Constantine  in  the  portico  was  found  in  the  baths 
of  Constantine  :  it  is  in  a  style  of  sculpture  worthy 
the  architecture  of  the  cloisters.  Constantine 
was  the  first  Christian  emperor,  a  glory  which  has 
served  to  cover  a  multitude  of  sins  :  it  is  indeed 
impossible  to  tbrget  that  he  was  the  chosen  instru- 
ment of  a  great  and  blessed  revolution,  tut  in 
other  respects  it  is  as  impossible  to  look  back  to  the 
period  of  Constantine  without  horror — an  era 
when  bloodshed  and  barbarism,  and   the  general 


159 


depravity  of  morals  and  taste  se^mod  to  have 
readied  their  climax. 

On  leaving  the  Lateran,  we  walked  to  the  Scala 
Santa,  said  to  be  the  very  flight  of  steps  which  led 
to  the  judgment  hall  at  Jerusidem,  and  transported 
hither  by  the  Emperor  Constantine  ;  but  while  the 
other  relics  Avhich  his  pious  benevolence  bestowed 
on  the  city  of  Rome  have  apparently  lost  some  of 
their  efficacy,  the  Scala  Santa  is  still  regai'ded  with 
the  most  devout  veneration.  At  the  moment  of 
our  approach,  an  elegant  barouche  drove  up  to  the 
portico,  from  which  two  well-dressed  women 
alighted,  and  pulling  out  their  rosaries,  began  to 
crawl  up  the  stairs  on  their  hands  and  knees,  re- 
peating a  Paternoster  and  an  Ave  Maria  on  every 
step.  A  poor  diseased  beggar  had  just  gone  up 
before  them,  and  was  a  few  steps  in  advance.  This 
exercise,  as  we  are  assured,  purchases  a  thousand 
years  of  indulgence.  The  morning  was  concluded 
by  a  walk  on  the  Monte  Piucio. 

I  did  not  know  on  that  first  morning  after  our 
arrival,  when  I  ran  up  the  Scala  della  Trinita  to 
the  top  of  the  Pincian  hill,  and  looked  around  me 
with  such  transport,  that  I  stood  by  mere  chance 
on  that  very  spot  from  whrch  Claude  used  to  study 
his  sun-sets,  and  his  beautiful  effects  of  evening. 
His  house  was  close  to  me  on  the  left,  and  those  of 
Nicoio  Poussin  and  Salvator  Rosa  a  little  beyond. 
Since  they  have  been  pointed  out  to  me,  I  never 
pass  from  the  Monte  Pincio  along  the  Via  Felice 


i60 


without  looking  up  at  them  with  interest :  such 
power  has  genius,  "  to  hallow  in  the  core  of  human 
hearts  even  the  ruin  of  a  wall." 

*  *  *  *  » 

Jan.  6  — Sunday,  at  the  English  chapel,  which 
was  crowded  to  excess,  and  where  it  was  at  once 
cold  and  suffocating.  We  had  a  plain  but  excel- 
lent sermon,  and  the  officiating  clergyman,  Mr.  W., 
exhorted  the  congregation  to  conduct  themselves 
with  more  decorum  at  St.  Peter's  and  to  remember 
"what  was  due  to  the  temple  of  that  God  who  waa 
equally  the  God  of  all  Christians.  We  afterwards 
■went  to  St.  Peter's ;  where  the  anthem  was  per- 
formed at  vespers  as  usual,  and  the  tenor  of  the 
Argentino  sung.  The  music  was  indeed  heavenly 
— but  I  did  not  enjoy  it :  for  though  the  behavior 
of  the  English  was  much  more  decent  than  I  have 
yet  seen  it,  the  crowd  round  the  chapel,  the  talk- 
ing, pushing,  whispering,  and  movement,  were 
enough  to  disquiet  and  discomfort  me  :  I  withdrew, 
therefore,  and  walked  about  at  a  little  distance, 
where  I  could  just  hear  the  swell  of  the  organ. 
Such  is  the  immensity  of  the  building,  that  at  the 
other  side  of  the  aisle  the  music  is  perfectly  in- 
audible. 

7. — Visited  the  Falconieri  Palace  to  see  Cardinal 
Fesche's  gallery.  The  collection  is  large,  and  con- 
tains many  fine  pictures,  but  there  is  such  a 
melange  of  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  that  on  the 
whole  I  was  disappointed.     L*  *  attached  himself 


ROME.  161 

to  my  side  the  whole  morning — to  benefit,  as  he 
said,  by  my  "  tasty  remarks : "  he  hung  so  dread- 
fully heavy  on  my  hands,  and  I  was  so  confounded 
by  the  interpretations  and  explanations  his  igno- 
rance required,  that  I  at  last  found  my  patience 
nearly  at  an  end.  Pity  he  is  so  good-natured  and 
good-tempered,  that  one  can  neither  have  the  com- 
fort of  heartily  disliking  him,  nor  find  nor  make 
the  shadow  of  an  excuse  to  shake  him  oif ! 
In  the  evening  we  had  a  gay  party  of  English 

and  foreigners  :   among  them 

«  *  *  *  * 


A    REPLY    TO    A    COMPLAINT. 

Trust  not  the  ready  smile ! 

'Tis  a  delusive  glow — 
For  cold  and  dark  the  while 

The  spirits  flag  below. 

With  a  beam  of  departed  joy, 

The  eye  may  kindle  yet: 
As  the  cloud  in  yon  wintry  sky, 

StiU  glows  with  the  sun  that  is  set 

The  cloud  wiU  vanish  away — 
The  sun  will  shine  to-morrow — 

To  me  shall  break  no  day 
On  this  dull  night  of  sorrow  I 

11 


iG2  HOME. 


A    REPLY    TO    A    REPROACH. 

I  would  not  tliat  the  ■world  should  know, 
IIow  deep  ■within  niv  panting  heart 

A  thousand  warmer  feelings  glow, 
Than  word  or  look  could  e'er  impart. 

I  would  not  that  the  world  should  guess 
At  aught  beyond  this  outward  show ; 

What  happy  dreams  in  secret  bless — 
What  burning  tears  m  secret  flow. 

And  let  them  deem  me  cold  or  vain; 

— 0  there  is  o/ie  Avho  thinks  not  so ! 
In  one  devoted  heart  I  reign, 

And  what  is  all  the  rest  below ! 


9. — We  Lave  had  two  days  of  tru'^y  English 
weather;  cold,  damp,  and  gloomy,  with  storms  of 
wijid  and  rain.  I  know  not  why,  but  there  is 
something  peculiarly  deforming  and  discordant  in 
bad  weather  here ;  and  we  are  all  rather  stupid 
and  depressed.  To  me,  sunshine  and  ■n'armth  are 
substitutes  for  health  and  spirits ;  and  their  ab- 
sence inflicts  positive  suffering.  There  is  not  a 
single  room  in  our  palazzetto  which  is  weather- 
proof; and  as  to  a  good  fire,  it  is  a  luxury  un- 
known, but  not  unnecessary,  in  these  regions.  In 
Buch  apartments  as  contain  no  fire-place,  a  stufa  or 
portable  stove  is   set,  which   diffuses  little  warmth. 


ROME.  163 

and  renders  the  air  insupportably  close  and  suf- 
focating. 

I  witnessed  a  scene  last  night,  ■which  was  a  good 
illustration  of  that  extraordinary  indolence  for 
which  the  Romans  are  remarkable.  Our  laquais 
Camillo  suffered  himself  to  be  turned  off,  rather 
:han  put  wood  on  the  fire  three  times  a  day  ;  he 
would  rather,  he  said,  "  starve  in  the  streets  than 
Dreak  his  back  by  carrying  burdens  like  an  ass; 
and  though  he  was  miserable  to  displease  the 
Onoratissimo  Padrone,  his  first  dutu  was  to  take 
care  of  his  own  health,  which,  with  the  blessing  of 

the  saints,   he   was    determined   to   do."      R 

threw  liim  his  wages,  repeating  with  great  contempt 
the  only  word  of  his  long  speech  he  understood, 
"  Asino  !  "  "  Sono  Romano,  io,"  replied  the  fel- 
low, drawing  himself  up  with  dignity.  He  took  his 
wages,  however,  and  marched  out  uf  the  house. 

The  impertinence  of  this  Camillo  was  sometimes 
amusing,  but  oftener  provoking.  He  piqued  him- 
self on  being  a  profound  antiquarian,  would  con- 
fute Nibby,  and  carried  Nardini  in  his  pocket,  to 
whom  he  referred  on  all  occasions ;  yet  the  other 
day  he  had  the  impudence  to  assure  us  that  Caiua 
Cestus  was  an  English  Protestant,  who  was  ex- 
communicated by  Pope  Julius  Cassar ;  and  took 
his  Nardini  out  of  his  pocket  to  prove  his  asser- 
tion. 

V brought   me   to-day  the  "  Souvenirs  de 

Felicie,"  of  Madame  de  Genlis,  which  amused  me 


164  ROME. 

delightfully  for  a  few  hours.  They  contain  many 
truths,  many  half  or  whole  falsehoods,  many  im- 
pertinent things,  and  several  very  interesting  anec- 
dotes. They  are  written  with  all  the  graceful 
simplicity  of  style,  and  in  that  tone  of  lady-like 
feeling  which  distinguishes  whatever  she  writes : 
but  it  is  clear  that  though  she  represents  these 
"  Souvenirs  "  as  mere  extracts  from  her  journal, 
they  have  been  carefully  composed  or  re-com- 
posed for  publication,  and  were  always  intended  to 
be  seen.  Now  if  my  poor  little  Diary  should 
ever  be  seen  !  I  tremble  but  to  think  of  it ! — what 
egotism  and  vanity,  what  discontent — repining — - 
caprice — should  I  be  accused  of? — neither  per- 
haps have  I  always  been  just  to  others ;  quand  on 
sejif,  on  rejlechit  rarement.  Such  strange  vicisi- 
tudes  of  temper — such  opposite  extremes  of  think- 
ing and  feeling,  written  down  at  the  moment, 
■without  noticing  the  intervening  links  of  circum- 
stances and  impressions  which  led  to  them,  would 
appear  like  detraction,  if  they  should  meet  the 
eye  of  any  indifferent  person — but  I  think  I  have 
taken  sufficient  precautions  against  the  possibility 
of  such  an  exposure,  and  the  only  eyes  which  will 
ever  glance  o^er  this  blotted  page,  when  the  hand 
that  writes  it  is  cold,  will  read,  not  to  criticize  but 
to  sipnpatliize. 

10. — A  lovely  brilliant  day,  the  sky  without  a 
cloud  and  the  air  as  soft  as  summer.  The  car- 
riages were  ordered  immediately  after  breakfast. 


ROME.  165 

and  we  sallied  forth  in  high  spirits — resolved,  aa 
L  *  *  said,  with  his  usual  felicitous  application  of 
Shakspeare, 

To  take  the  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men. 

The  baths  of  Titus  are  on  the  iEsquiline  ;  and  noth- 
ing remains  of  them  but  piles  of  brickwork,  ar,d 
a  few  subterranean  chambers  almost  choked  with 
rubbish.  Some  fragments  of  exquisite  arabesque 
painting  are  visible  on  the  ceilings  and  walls  ;  and 
the  gilding  and  colors  are  still  fresh  and  bright. 
The  brickwork  is  perfectly  solid  and  firai,  and  ap- 
peared as  if  finished  yesterday.  On  the  whole, 
the  impression  on  my  mind  was,  that  not  the  slow 
and  gentle  hand  of  time,  but  sudden  rapine  and 
violence  had  caused  the  devastation  around  us; 
and  looking  into  Nardini  on  my  leturn,  I  found 
that  the  baths  of  Titus  were  nearly  entire  in  the 
thirteenth  century,  but  were  demolished  with 
great  labor  and  difficulty  by  the  terocious  Senator 
Brancaleone,  who,  about  the  year  1257,  destroyed 
an  infinite  number  of  ancient  edifices,  "  per  togliere 
ai  Nobili  il  modo  di  fortificarsi."  The  ruins  were 
excavated  during  the  pontificate  of  Julius  the 
Second,  and  under  the  direction  of  Raffaelle,  who 
is  supposed  to  have  taken  the  idea  of  the  arabesques 
in  the  Loggie  of  the  Vatican,  from  the  paintings 
here.  We  were  shown  the  niche  in  which  the 
Laocoon  stood,  when  it  was  discovered  in   1502. 


166  ROME. 

After  leaving  the  baths,  we  entered  the  neighbor- 
ing  church  of  San  Pietro  in  Vincoli,  to  laok  again 
at  the  beautiful  fluted  Doric  columns  which  once 
adorned  the  splendid  edifice  of  Titus :  and  on  this 
occasion  we  were  shown  the  chest  in  which  the  fet- 
ters of  St.  Peter  are  preserved  in  a  triple  enclosure 
of  iron,  wood,  and  silver.  ]My  unreasonable  curi- 
osity not  being  satisfied  by  looking  at  the  mere 
outside  of  this  sacred  coffer,  I  turned  to  the  monk 
who  exhibited  it,  and  civilly  requested  that  he 
would  open  it,  and  show  us  the  miraculous  treasure 
it  contained.  The  poor  man  looked  absolutely 
astounded  and  aghast  at  the  audacity  of  my  request, 
and  stammered  out,  that  the  coffer  was  never 
opened,  without  a  written  order  from  his  holiness 
the  pope,  and  in  the  presence  of  a  cardinal,  and, 
that  this  favor  was  never  granted  to  a  heretic,  (coa 
rispetto  parlando ;)  and  with  this  excuse  we  were 
obliged  to  be  satisfied. 

The  church  of  San  Martino  del  Monte  is  built 
on  part  of  the  substructure  of  the  baths  of  Titus ; 
and  there  is  a  door  opening  from  the  church,  by 
which  you  descend  into  the  ancient  subterranean 
A'aults.  The  small,  but  exquisite  pillars,  and  the 
pavement,  which  is  of  the  richest  marbles,  were 
brought  from  the  Villa  of  Adrian  at  Tivoh.  The 
walls  were  painted  in  fresco  by  Nicolo  and  Gaspai 
Poussin,  and  were  once  a  celebrated  study  for 
young  landscape  painters;  almost  every  vestige 
of  coloring  is  now  obliterated  by  the  damp  which 


ROME.  167 

Btreams  down  the  walls.  There  are  some  excellent 
modern  pictures  in  good  preservation,  I  think  by 
Carliiccio.  This  church,  though  not  large,  is  one 
of  the  most  magnificent  we  have  yet  seen,  and  the 
most  precious  materials  are  lavished  in  profusion  on 
every  part.  The  body  of  Cardinal  ToraasI  is 
preserved  here,  embalmed  in  a  glass  case.  It 
is  exhibited  conspicuously,  and  in  my  life  I  never 
saw  (or  smelt)  any  thing  so  abominable  and  dis- 
gusting. 

The  rest  of  the  morning  was  spent  in  the 
Vatican. 

I  stood  to-day  for  some  time  between  those  two 
great  masterpieces,  the  Transfiguration  of  Raf- 
faelle,  and  Domenichino's  Communion  of  St.  Je- 
rome. I  studied  them,  I  examined  them  figure  by 
figure,  and  then  in  the  ensemble,  and  mused  upon 
the  diflferent  effect  they  produce,  and  were  de- 
signed to  produce,  until  I  thought  I  could  decide 
to  my  own  satisfaction  on  their  respective  merits. 
I  am  not  ignorant  that  the  Transfiguration  is  pro- 
nounced the  "  grandest  picture  in  the  world,"  nor 
so  insensible  to  excellence  as  to  regard  this  glo- 
rious composition  without  all  the  admiration  due  to 
it.  I  am  dazzled  by  the  flood  of  light  which  bursts 
from  the  opening  heavens  above,  and  aflected  by 
the  dramatic  interest  of  the  group  below.  What 
splendor  of  color  !  What  variety  of  expression  ! 
What  masterly  grouping  of  the  heads !  I  see  all 
thiij — but  to  me  Raffaelle's  picture  wants  imity  of 


168  ROME. 

interest :  it  is  two  pictures  in  one ;  the  demoniao 
boy  in  the  foreground  always  shocks  me  ;  and  thus, 
from  my  peculiarity  of  taste,  the  pleasure  it  gives 
me  is  not  so  perfect  as  it  ought  to  be. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  never  can  turn  to  the  Do- 
menichino  without  being  thrilled  with  emotion, 
and  touched  with  awe.  The  story  is  told  with  the 
most  admirable  skill,  and  with  the  most  exquisite 
truth  and  simplicity  :  the  interest  is  one  and  the 
same  ;  it  all  centres  in  the  person  of  the  expiring 
saint ;  and  the  calm  benignity  of  the  officiating 
priest  is  finely  contracted  with  the  countenances  of 
the  group  who  support  the  dying  form  of  St.  Je- 
rome :  anxious  tenderness,  grief,  hope,  and  fear, 
are  expressed  with  such  deep  pathos  and  reality, 
that  the  spectator  forgets  admiration  in  sympathy  ; 
and  I  have  gazed,  till  I  could  almost  have  fancied 
myself  one  of  the  assistants.  The  coloring  is  as 
admirable  as  the  composition — gorgeously  rich  in 
efl'ect,  but  subdued  to  a  tone  which  harmonizes 
with  the  solemnity  of  the  subject. 

There  is  a  curious  anecdote  connected  with  this 
picture,  which  I  wish  I  had  noted  down  at  length 
as  it  was  related  to  me,  and  at  the  time  I  heard  it : 
it  is  briefly  this.  The  picture  was  painted  by  Dy- 
menichino  for  the  church  of  San  Girolamo  della 
Carith.  At  that  time  the  factions  between  the 
dltferent  schools  of  painting  ran  so  high  at  Rome, 
that  the  followers  of  Domenichino  and  Gu  do  abso- 
lutely stabbed  and  poisoned  each  other;   and  the 


ROME.  169 

popular  prejudice  being  in  favor  of  tLe  latter,  the 
Communion  of  St.  Jerome  was  torn  down  from  its 
place,  and  flung  into  a  lumber  garret.  Some  time 
afterwards,  the  superiors  of  the  convent  wishing  to 
substitute  a  new  altar-piece,  commissioned  Nicolo 
Poussin  to  execute  it;  and  sent  him  Domenichino'3 
rejected  picture  as  old  canvas  to  paint  upon.  Xo 
sooner  had  the  generous  Poussin  cast  his  eyes  on  it, 
than  he  was  struck,  as  well  he  might  be,  with  aston- 
ishment and  admiration.  He  immediately  carried 
it  into  the  church,  and  there  lectured  in  public  on 
its  beauties,  until  he  made  the  stupid  monks 
ashamed  of  their  blind  rejection  of  such  a  master- 
piece, and  boldly  gave  it  that  character  it  has  ever 
since  retained,  of  being  the  second  best  picture  in 
the  world. 

11. — A  party  of  four,  including  L  *  *  and  my- 
self, ascended  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  ;  and  even 
mounted  into  the  gilt  ball.  It  was  a  most  fatiguing 
expedition,  and  one  I  have  since  repented.  I 
gained,  however,  a  more  perfect,  and  a  more  sub- 
lime idea  of  the  architectural  wonders  of  St. 
Peter's,  than  I  had  before  ;  and  I  was  equally 
pleased  and  surprised  by  the  exquisite  neatness 
and  cleanliness  of  every  part  of  the  building.  We 
drove  from  St.  Peter's  to  the  church  of  St.  Onofrio, 
to  visit  the  tomb  of  Tasso.  A  plain  slab  marks 
the  spot,  which  requires  nothing  but  his  name  to 
distinguish  it.     "  After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps 


170 


well."  The  poet  Guidi  lies  in  a  little  chapel  close 
by ;  and  his  efBgy  is  so  placed  that  the  eyes  appear 
fixed  upon  the  tomb  of  Tasso. 

In  the  church  of  Santa  Maria  Trastevere, 
(which  is  held  in  peculiar  reverence  by  the  Tras- 
teverini,)  there  is  nothing  remarkable,  except  that 
like  many  others  in  Rome,  it  is  rich  in  the  spoils 
of  antique  splendor  :  afterwards  to  the  Palazzo 
Farnese  and  the  Farnesina  to  see  the  frescos  of 
EaiTaelle,  Giulio  Romano,  and  the  Caraccis,  which 
have  long  been  rendered  familiar  to  me  in  copies 
and  engravings. 

12. — I  did  penance  at  home  for  the  fatigue  of 
the  day  before,  and  to-day  (the  13th)  I  took  a  de- 
lightful drive  of  several  hours  attended  only  by 
Scaccia.  Having  examined  at  different  times,  and 
in  detail,  most  of  the  interesting  objects  within  the 
compass  of  the  ancient  city,  I  wished  to  generalize 
what  I  had  seen,  by  a  kind  of  survey  of  the  whole. 
For  this  purpose  making  the  Capitol  a  central 
point,  I  drove  first  slowly  tlirough  the  Forum,  and 
made  the  circuit  of  the  Palatine  Hill,  then  by  the 
arch  of  Janus,  (which  by  a  late  decision  of  the  an- 
tiquarians, has  no  more  to  do  with  Janus  than  with 
Jnpiter,)  and  the  temple  of  Vesta,  back  again  over 
the  site  of  the  Circus  Maximus,  between  the  Par 
latine  and  the  Aventine,  (the  scene  of  the  Rape 
of  the  Sabines,)  to  the  baths  of  Caracalla,  where  I 
spent  an  hour,  musing,  sketching,  and  poetizing; 
thence  to  the  church  of   San   Stefano  Rotundo, 


171 


cnce  a  temple  dedicated  to  Claudius  by  Agrip« 
pina;  over  the  Celian  Hill,  covered  with  masses  of 
ruins,  to  the  church  of  St.  John  and  St.  Paul,  a 
small  but  beautiful  edifice  ;  then  to  the  neigh- 
boring church  of  San  Gregorio,  from  the  steps 
of  which  there  is  such  a  noble  view.  Thence  I  re- 
turned by  the  arch  of  Constantino,  and  the  Coli- 
seum, which  frowned  on  me  in  black  masses 
through  the  soft  but  deepening  twilight,  through 
the  street  now  called  the  Suburra,  but  formerly 
the  Via  Scelerata,  where  Tullia  trampled  over  the 
dead  body  of  her  father,  and  so  over  the  Quirinal, 
home. 

My  excursion  was  altogether  delightful,  and 
gave  me  the  most  magnificent,  and  I  had  almost 
said,  the  most  bewildering  ideas  of  the  grandeur 
and  extent  of  ancient  Rome.  Every  step  was 
classic  ground:  illustriors  names,  and  splendid  rec- 
ollections crowded  upon  the  fancy — 

"  And  trailinf;  clo.^ds  of  glory  did  they  come." 

On  the  Palatine  Hill  were  the  houses  of  Cicero 
and  the  (iracchi  ;  Horace,  Virgil,  and  Ovid  re- 
sided on  the  Aventine  ;  and  Meca?nas  and  Pliny  on 
the  ^:;quilinc.  If  one  little  fragment  of  a  wall 
remained,  which  could  with  any  shadow  of  proba- 
bility be  pointed  out  as  belonging  to  the  residence 
of  Cicero,  Horace,  or  Virgil,  how  much  dearer,  how 
much  more  sanctified  to  memory  would  it  be  than 
all  the  magnificent  ruins  of  the  fabrics  of  the  Cassars 


172 


But  no — all  has  passed  away.  I  have  heard  the  ro> 
mains  of  Rome  coarsely  ridiculed,  because,  after  the 
researches  of  centuries,  so  little  is  comparatively 
known — because  of  the  endless  disputes  of  antiqua- 
rians,  and  the  night  and  ignorance  in  which  all  is 
involved  :  but  to  the  imagination  there  is  some- 
thing singularly  striking  in  this  mysterious  veil 
which  hangs  like  a  cloud  upon  the  objects  around 
us.  I  trod  to-day  over  shapeless  masses  of  build- 
ing, extending  in  every  direction  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  AVho  had  inhabited  the  edifices  I 
trampled  under  my  feet  ?  What  hearts  had  burned 
— what  heads  had  thought — what  spirits  had 
kindled  there,  where  nothing  was  seen  but  a  wilder- 
ness and  waste,  and  heaps  of  ruins,  to  which  anti- 
quaries— even  Nibby  himself — dare  not  give  a 
name  ?  All  swept  away — buried  beneath  an  ocean 
of  oblivion,  above  which  rise  a  few  great  and  glo- 
rious names,  like  rocks,  over  which  the  billows  of 
time  break  in  vain. 

Indi  esclamo,  qua!'  notte  atra,  importuna 
Tutte  I'ampie  tue  glorie  a  un  tratto  amorza? 
Glorie  di  senno,  di  valor,  di  forza 
Gia  mille  avesti,  or  non  hai  pur  una! 

/  ***** 

One  of  the  most  striking  scenes  I  saw  to-dav 
was  the  Roman  forum,  crowded  with  the  common 
people  gaily  dressed  ;  (it  Is  a  festa  or  saint's  day  ;) 
the  women  sitting  in  groups  upon  the  fallen  col- 
umns, nursing  or  amusing  their  children.      ITie 


ROME.  17S 

men  were  playing  at  mora,  or  at  a  game  like 
quoits.  Under  the  "west  side  of  the  Palatine  Hill, 
on  the  site  of  the  Circus  Maximus,  I  met  a  woman 
mounted  on  an  ass,  habited  in  a  most  beautiful  and 
singular  holiday  costume,  a  man  walked  by  her 
side,  leading  the  animal  she  rode,  with  lover-like 
watchfulness.  He  was  en  veste,  and  I  observed 
that  his  cloak  was  thrown  over  the  back  of  the  ass 
as  a  substitute  for  a  saddle.  Two  men  followed 
behind  with  their  long  capotes  hanging  from  their 
shoulders  and  carrying  guitars,  which  they  struck 
from  time  to  time,  singing  as  they  walked  along. 
A  little  in  advance  there  is  a  small  chapel,  and 
Madonna.  A  young  girl  approached,  and  laying 
a  bouquet  of  flowers  before  the  image,  she  knelt 
down,  hid  her  face  in  her  apron,  and  wrung  her 
hands  from  time  to  time  as  if  she  was  praying  with 
fervor.  When  the  group  I  have  just  mentioned 
came  up,  they  left  the  pathway,  and  made  a  cir- 
cuit of  many  yards  to  avoid  disturbing  her,  the 
men  takins  oti'  their  hats,  and  the  woman  inclining 
her  head,  in  sign  of  respect,  as  they  passed. 

All  this  sounds,  while  I  soberly  write  it  down, 
very  sentimental,  and  picturesque,  and  poetical. 
It  was  exactly  what  I  saw — what  I  often  see  :  such 
is  the  place,  the  scenery,  the  people.  Every  group 
is  a  picture,  the  commonest  object  has  some  in- 
terest attached  to  it,  the  commonest  action  is  dig- 
nified by  sentiment,  the  language  around  us  ia 
music,  and  the  air  we  breathe  is  poetry. 


174 


Jusl  as  I  was  writing  the  word  munic,  the  sounds 
of  a  guitar  attracted  me  to  the  Avindow,  -which 
looks  into  a  narrow  back  street,  and  is  exactly 
opposite  a  small  white  house  belonging  to  a  vettu- 
rino,  who  has  a  very  pretty  daughter.  For  her 
this  serenade  was  evidently  intended  ;  for  the 
moment  the  music  began,  she  placed  a  light  in  the 
window  as  a  signal  that  she  listened  propitiously, 
and  then  retired.  The  group  below  consisted  of 
two  men,  the  lover  and  a  musician  he  had  brought 
with  him  :  the  former  stood  looking  up  at  tlie 
window  with  his  hat  off,  and  the  musician,  after 
singing  two  very  beautiful  airs,  concluded  with  the 
delicious  and  popular  Arietta  "  Buona  notte  amato 
bene  ! "  to  which  the  lover  wJiislled  a  second,  in 
such  perfect  tune,  and  with  such  exquisite  taste, 
that  I  was  enchanted.  Rome  is  famous  for  sere- 
nades and  serenaders  ;  but  at  this  season  they  are 
seldom  heard.  I  remember  at  Venice  being 
Avakened  in  the  dead  of  the  night  by  such  deli- 
cious music,  that  (to  use  a  hyperbole  common  in 
the  mouths  of  this  poetical  people)  I  was  "  trans- 
ported to  the  seventh  heaven :  "  before  I  could 
perfectly  recollect  myself,  the  music  ceased,  the 
inhabitants  of  the  neighbouring  houses  threw  open 
their  casements,  and  vehemently  and  enthusiasti- 
cally applauded,  clapping  their  hands,  and  shout- 
ing bravos :  but  neither  at  Venice,  at  Padua,  nor 
at  Florence  did  I  hear  any  thing  that  pleased  and 
touched  me  so  much  as  the  serenade  to  which  I 
have  just  been  listening. 


ROME.  175 


14. — To-day  "was  quite  heavenly — like  a  lovely 
May-day  in  England  :  the  air  so  pure,  so  soft,  anj 
the  sun  so  warm,  that  I  would  gladly  have  dis- 
pensed with  my  shawl  and  pelisse.  We  went  in 
carriages  to  the  other  side  of  the  Palatine,  and 
then  dispersing  in  small  parties,  as  will  or  fancy 
led,  we  lounged  and  wandered  about  in  the  Coli- 
seum, and  among  the  neighbouT-ing  ruins  till 
dinner  time.  I  climbed  up  the  western  side  of  the 
Coliseum,  at  the  imminent  hazard  of  my  neck ; 
and  looking  down  through  a  gaping  aperture  on 
the  brink  of  which  I  had  accidentally  seated  my- 
self, I  saw  in  the  colossal  corridor  far  below  me,  a 
young  artist,  who,  as  if  transported  out  of  his 
senses  by  delight  and  admiration,  was  making  the 
most  extraordinary  antics  and  gestures :  sometimes 
he  claspeil  his  hands,  then  extended  his  arms, 
then  stood  with  them  folded  as  in  deep  thought ; 
now  he  snatched  up  liis  portfolio  as  if  to  draw  what 
so  nmch  enchanted  him,  then  threw  it  down  and 
kicked  it  from  him  as  if  in  despair.  I  never  saw 
such  admirable  dumb  show  :  it  was  better  than 
any  pantomime.  At  length,  however,  he  hap- 
pened to  cast  up  his  eyes,  as  if  appealing  to  heaven, 
and  they  encountered  mine  peeping  down  upon 
him  from  above.  He  stood  fixed  and  motionless 
for  two  seconds,  staring  at  me,  and  then  snatching 
up  his  portfolio  and  his  hat,  ran  off  and  disap- 
peared.    I  met  the  same  man  afterwards  walking 


176 


along  the  Via  Felice,  and  could  not  help  smiling  as 
he  passed  :  he  smiled  too,  but  pulled  his  hat  over 
his  face  and  turned  away. 

I  discovered  to-day  (and  it  is  no  slight  pleasure 
to  make  a  discovery  for  one's  self)  the  passage 
which  formed  the  communication  between  the  Co- 
liseum and  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars,  and  in  which 
the  Emperor  Commodus  was  assassinated.  I  rec- 
ognized it  by  its  situation,  and  the  mosaic  pave- 
ment described  by  Nibby.  If  I  had  time  I  might 
moralize  here,  and  make  an  eloquent  tirade  a  la 
Eustace  about  imperial  monsters  and  so  forth, — 
but  in  fact  I  did  think,  while  I  stood  in  the  damp 
and  gloomy  corridor,  that  it  was  a  fitting  death 
for  Commodus  to  die  by  the  giddy  playfulness  of 
a  child,  and  the  machinations  of  an  abandoned 
woman.  It  was  not  a  favorable  time  or  hour  to 
contemplate  the  Coliseum — the  sunshine  was  too 
resplendent — 

It  was  a  garish,  broad,  and  peering  day. 
Loud,  light,  suspicious,  full  of  eyes  and  ears; 
And  every  little  corner,  nook,  and  hole. 
Was  penetrated  by  the  insolent  light. 

We  are  told  that  five  thousand  animals  were 
slain  in  the  amphitheatre  on  its  dedication — how 
dreadful !  The  mutual  massacres  of  the  gladiators 
inspire  less  horror  than  this  disgusting  butchery  1 
To  what  a  pitch  must  the  depraved  appetite  for 
Uood  and  death  have  risen  among  the  corrupted 


17? 


and  ferocious  populace,  before  such  a  sight  could 
be  endured  ! 

***** 

15. — We  drove  to-day  to  the  tomb  of  Cecilia 
Metella,  on  the  Appian  Way,  to  the  Fountain  of 
Egeria,  and  the  tomb  of  the  Scipios  near  the  Porta 
Cappena. 

I  wish  the  tomb  of  Cecilia  iSIetella  had  been 
that  of  Cornelia  or  Valeria.  There  may  be  little 
in  a  name,  but  how  much  there  is  in  association  ! 
What  this  massy  fabric  wanted  in  classical  fame 
Lord  Byron  has  lately  supplied  in  poetical  interest. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  Fountain  of  Egeria, 
to  which  he  has  devoted  some  of  the  most  exquisite 
stanzas  in  his  poem,  and  has  certainly  invested  it 
witli  a  charm  it  could  r.ot  have  possessed  befqre. 
The  woods  and  groves  which  once  surrounded  it, 
have  been  all  cut  down,  and  the  scenery  round  it  is 
waste  and  bleak  ;  but  the  fountain  itself  is  pretty, 
overgrown  with  ivy,  moss,  and  the  graceful  capil- 
laire  plant  (capello  di  venere)  drooping  from  the 
walls,  and  the  stream  is  as  pure  as  crystal.  L*  *, 
who  was  with  us,  took  up  a  stone  to  break  off  a 
piece  of  the  statue,  and  maimed,  defaced,  and 
wreti.'hed  as  it  is,  I  could  not  help  thinking  it  a 
profanation  to  the  place,  and  stopped  his  hand, 
falling  him  a  barbarous  Vandyke:  he  looked  so 
awkwardly  alarmed  and  puzzled  by  the  epithet  I 
had  given  him  !  The  identity  of  this  spot  (like  all 
other  places  here)  has  been  vehementlj  disputed. 
12 


178  ROME. 

At  even  step  to-day  we  encountered  doubt,  and 
contradiction,  and  cavilling  :  authorities  are  mar- 
shalled against  each  other  in  puzzling  array,  and 
the  modern  unwillingness  to  be  cheated  by  fine 
sounds  and  great  names  has  become  a  general 
scepticism.  I  have  no  objection  to  the  "  shadows, 
doubts,  and  darkness"  which  rest  upon  all  around 
us ;  it  rather  pleases  my  fancy  thus  to  "  dream 
over  the  map  of  things,"  abandoned  to  my  own 
cogitations  and  my  own  conclusions ;  but  then 
there  are  certain  points  upon  which  it  is  very  dis- 
agreeable to  have  one's  faith  disturbed  ;  and  the 
Fountain  of  Egeria  is  one  of  these.  So  leaving  the 
more  learned  antiquarians  to  fight  it  out,  secundum 
arlem,  and  fire  each  other  s  wigs  if  they  will,  I  am 
determined,  and  do  steadfastly  believe,  that  the 
Fountain  of  Egeria  I  saw  to-day  is  the  very  iden- 
tical and  original  Fountain  of  Egeria — of  Numa's 
Egeria — and  therefore  it  is  so. 

The  tomb  of  the  Scipios  is  a  dirty  dark  wine 
cellar  :  all  the  urns,  the  fine  sarcophagus,  and  the 
original  tablets  and  inscriptions  have  been  removed 
to  the  Vatican.  I  thought  to-day  while  I  stood  in 
the  sepulchre,  and  on  the  very  spot  whence  the 
sarcophagus  of  Publius  was  removed,  if  Scipio,  or 
Augustus,  or  Adrian,  could  return  to  this  world, 
how  would  their  Roman  pride  enduj'e  to  see  their 
last  resting-places,  the  towers  and  the  pyramids  in 
which  they  fortified  themselves,  thus  violated  and 
put  to  ignoble  uses,  and  the  urns  which  contained 


ROME.  179 

their  ashes  stuck  up  as  ornaments  in  a  painted 
room,  where  barbarian  visitors  lounge  away  their 
hours,  and  stare  upon  their  relics  with  scornful 
indifference  or  idle  curiosity  1 

The  people  here,  even  the  lowest  and  meanest 
among  them,  seem  to  have  imbibed  a  profound  re- 
spect for  antiquity  and  antiquities,  which  some- 
times produces  a  comic  effect.  I  am  often  amused 
by  the  exultation  with  which  they  point  out  a  bit 
of  old  stone,  or  piece  of  brick  wall,  or  shapeless 
fragment  of  some  nameless  statue,  and  tell  you  it 
is  antico,  wolto  antico,  and  the  half  contemptuous 
tone  in  which  they  praise  the  most  beautiful 
modern  production,  e  modei'na — via  pure  noii  4 
caiiva  ! 

18. — We  had  an  opportunity  of  witnessing  to- 
day one  of  the  most  splendid  ceremonies  of  the 
Catholic  church.  It  is  one  of  the  four  festivals  at 
which  the  Pope  performs  mass  in  state  at  the  Vat- 
ican, the  anniversary  of  St.  Peter's  entrance  into 
Rome,  and  of  his  taking  possession  of  the  Papal 
chair ;  for  here  St.  Peter  is  reckoned  the  first 
Pope.  To  see  the  high-priest  of  an  ancient  and 
wide-spread  superstition  publicly  officiate  in  his 
sacred  character,  in  the  grandest  temple  in  the 
universe,  and  surrounded  by  all  the  trappings  of 
hii)  spiritual  and  temporal  authority,  was  an  exhibi- 
tion to  make  sad  a  reflecting  mind,  but  to  please 


180  ROME. 

and  exalt  a  lively  imagination  :  I  wished  mrself  a 
Roman  Catholic  for  one  half  hour  only.  The  pro- 
cession, which  was  so  arranged  as  to  produce  the 
most  striking  theatrical  effect,  moved  up  the  cen- 
tral aisle,  to  strains  of  solemn  and  beautiful  music 
from  an  orchestra  of  wind  instruments.  The  musi- 
cians were  placed  out  of  sight,  nor  could  I  guess 
from  what  part  of  the  buildings  the  sounds  pro- 
ceeded ;  but  the  blended  harmony,  so  soft,  yet  so 
powerful  and  so  equally  diffused,  as  it  floated 
through  the  long  aisles  and  lofty  domes,  had  a  most 
heavenly  effect.  At  length  appeared  the  Pope, 
borne  on  the  shoulders  of  his  attendants,  and  hab- 
ited in  his  full  pontifical  robes  of  white  and  gold ; 
fans  of  peacocks'  feathers  were  waved  on  each 
side  of  his  throne,  and  boys  flung  clouds  of  incense 
from  their  censers.  As  the  procession  advanced 
at  the  slowest  possible  foot-pace,  the  Pope  from 
time  to  time  stretched  forth  his  arms  which  were 
crossed  upon  his  bosom,  and  solemnly  blessed  the 
people  as  they  prostrated  themselves  on  each  side. 
I  could  have  fancied  it  the  triumphant  appi'oach  of 
an  eastern  despot,  but  for  the  mild  and  venerable 
air  of  the  amiable  old  Pope,  who  looked  as  if  more 
humbled  than  exalted  by  the  pageantry  around 
him.  It  might  be  acting^  but  if  so,  it  was  the  most 
admirable  acting  I  ever  saw  :  I  wish  all  his  attend- 
ants had  performed  their  parts  as  well.  While  the 
Pope  assi.sts  at' mass,  it  is  not  etiquette  for  him  to 
do  anv  thins  for  himself:  one   Car  Jinal  kneeling, 


ROME.  181 

holds  the  book  open  before  him,  another  carries 
his  handkerchief,  a  third  folds  and  unfolds  his  robe, 
a  priest  on  each  side  supports  him  whenever  he 
rises  or  moves,  so  that  he  appears  among  them  like 
a  mere  helpless  automaton  going  through  a  certain 
set  of  mechanical  motions,  with  which  his  will  has 
nothing  to  do.  All  who  approach  or  address  him, 
prostrate  themselves  and  kiss  his  embroidered  slip- 
per before  they  rise. 

When  the  whole  ceremony  was  over,  and  most 
of  the  crowd  dispersed,  the  Pope,  after  disrobing, 
was  passing  through  a  private  part  of  the  church 
where  we  were  standing  accidentally,  looking  at, 
one  of  the  monuments.  We  made  the  usual  obei- 
sance, which  he  returned  by  inclining  his  head. 
He  walked  without  support,  but  with  great  dill'i- 
culty,  and  appeared  bent  by  infirmity  and  age :  his 
countenance  has  a  melancholy  but  most  benevolent 
expression,  and  his  dark  eyes  retain  uncommon 
lustre  and  penetration.  During  the  twenty-one 
years  he  has  worn  the  tiara,  he  has  suffered  many 
vicissitudes  and  humiliations  with  dignity  and  for- 
titude, lie  is  not  considered  a  man  of  very  power- 
ful intellect  or  very  shining  talents :  he  is  not  a 
Ganganelli  or  a  Lambertini ;  but  he  has  been 
happy  in  his  choice  of  ministers,  and  his  govern- 
ment has  been  distinguished  by  a  spirit  of  liberality, 
and  above  all  by  a  partiality  to  the  English,  which 
calls  for  our  respect  and  gratitude.  There  wcn-e 
present  to-day  in  St.  Peter's  about  five  thousand 


182  ROME. 

people,  and  the  church  would  certainly  have  con- 
tained ten  times  the  number. 


19. — We  went  to-day  to  view  the  restored  model 
of  the  Coliseum  exhibited  in  the  Piazza  di  Spagna ; 
and  afterwards  drove  to  the  manuiactory  of  the 
beads  called  Roman  Pearl,  which  is  well  worth 
seeing  once.  The  beads  are  cut  from  thin  laminsE 
of  alabaster,  and  then  dipped  into  a  composition 
made  of  the  scales  of  a  fish  (the  Argentina). 
When  a  perfect  imitation  of  pearl  is  intended,  they 
can  copy  the  accidental  defects  of  color  and  form 
which  occur  in  the  real  gem,  as  well  as  its  bril- 
liance, so  exquisitely,  as  to  deceive  the  most  prac- 
tised eye. 

20. — I  ordered  the  open  carriage  early  this 
morning,  and,  attended  only  by  Scaccia,  partly 
drove  and  partly  walked  through  some  of  the 
finest  parts  of  ancient  Rome.  The  day  has  been 
perfectly  lovely;  the  sky  intensely  blue  without  a 
single  cloud  ;  and  though  I  was  weak  and  far  from 
well,  I  felt  the  influence  of  the  soft  sunshine  in 
everj  nerve :  the  pure  elastic  air  seemed  to  pene- 
trate my  whole  frame,  and  made  my  spirits  bound 
and  my  heart  beat  quicker.  It  is  ti'ue,  I  had  to 
regret  at  every  step  the  want  of  a  more  cultivated 
companion,  and  that  I  felt  myself  shamefully — no 
■ — not  shamejully,  but  lamentably  ignorant  of  many 


183 


tMngs.  There  is  so  much  of  which  I  wish  to 
know  and  learn  more  :  so  much  of  my  time  is  spent 
in  hunting  books,  and  accjuiring  by  various  means 
the  information  Avith  which  I  ought  already  to 
be  prepared ;  so  many  days  are  lost  by  frequent 
indisposition,  that  though  I  enjoy,  and  feel  the 
value  of  all  I  do  know  and  observe,  I  am  tantalized 
by  the  thoughts  of  all  I  must  leave  behind  me 
unseen — there  must  necessarily  be  so  much  of 
what  I  do  not  even  hear !  Yet,  in  spite  of  these 
drawbacks,  my  little  excursion  to-day  was  delight- 
ful. I  took  a  direction  just  contrary  to  my  last  ex- 
pedition, first  by  the  Quattro  Fontane  to  the  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore,  which  I  always  see  with  new  de- 
light; then  to  the  ruins  called  the  temple  of  Mi- 
nerva Medica,  which  stand  in  a  cabbage  garden 
near  another  fine  ruin,  once  called  the  Trofei  di 
Mario,  and  now  the  Acqua  Giulia:  thence  to  the 
Porta  Maggiore,  built  by  Claudius  ;  and  round  by 
the  Santa  Croce  di  Gerusalemme.  This  churcli 
was  built  by  Helena,  the  mother  of  Constantine, 
iind  contains  her  tomb,  besides  a  portion  of  the 
True  Cross  from  which  it  derives  its  name.  The 
interior  of  this  Basilica  struck  me  as  mean  and 
cold.  In  the  fine  avenue  in  front  of  the  Santa 
Croce,  I  paused  a  few  minutes,  to  look  round  me. 
To  the  right  were  the  ruins  of  the  stupendous 
Claudian  Aqueduct  with  its  gigantic  arches,  stretch- 
ing away  in  one  unbroken  series  far  into  the  Cam- 
pagna  :  behind  me  the  Amphitheatre  of  Castrensc 


184 


to  the  left,  other  ruins,  once  called  the  Temple  of 
Venus  and  Cupid,  and  now  the  Sessoriuni:  in 
front,  the  Lateran,  the  obelisk  of  Sesostris,  the 
Porta  San  Giovanni,  and  great  part  of  the  ancient 
walls ;  and  thence  the  view  extended  to  the  foot 
of  the  Apennines.  All  this  part  of  Rome  is  a 
scene  of  magnificent  desolation,  and  of  melancholy 
yet  sublime  interest :  its  wildness,  its  vastness,  its 
waste  and  solitary  openness,  add  to  its  effect  upon 
the  imagination;  The  only  human  beings  I  beheld 
in  the  compass  of  at  least  two  miles,  were  a  few 
herdsmen  driving  their  cattle  through  the  Gate  of 
San  Giovanni,  and  two  or  three  strangers  who 
were  sauntering  about  with  their  note  books  and 
portfolios,  apparently  enthusiasts  like  myself,  lost 
in  the  memory  of  the  past  and  the  contemplation 
of  the  present. 

I  spent  some  time  in  the  Lateran,  then  drove  to 
the  Coliseum,  where  I  found  a  long  procession  of 
penitents,  their  figures  and  faces  totally  concealed 
by  their  masks  and  peculiar  dress,  chanting  the 
Via  Crucis.  I  then  examinod  the  site  of  the  Temple 
of  Venus  and  Rome,  and  satisfied  myself  by  ocular 
demonstration  of  the  truth  of  the  measurements 
which  gave  sixty  feet  for  the  height  of  the  columns 
and  eighteen  feet  for  their  circumference.  I  knew 
enough  of  geometrical  proportion  to  prove  this  to 
my  own  satisfaction.  On  examining  the  fragment? 
which  remain,  each  fluting  measured  a  foot,  that  is, 
eight  mches  right  across.     This  appears  prodigious, 


ROME.  184 

but  it  is,  nevertheless,  true.  I  am  forced  to  believe 
to-day,  what  I  yesterday  doubted,  and  deemed  a 
piece  of  mere  antiquarian  exaggeration. 

This  magnificent  edifice  was  designed  and  built 
by  the  Emperor  Adrian,  who  piqued  himself  on  his 
skill  in  architecture,  and  carried  his  jealousy  of 
other  artists  so  far,  as  to  banish  Apollodorus,  who 
had  designed  the  Forum  of  Trajan.  When  he 
had  finished  the  Temple  of  Venus  and  Rome,  he 
sent  to  Apollodorus  a  plan  of  his  stupendous  struc- 
ture, challenging  him  to  find  a  single  fault  in  it 
The  architect  severely  criticized  some  trifling  over- 
sights ;  and  the  Emperor,  conscious  of  the  justice 
of  his  criticisms,  and  unable  to  remedy  the  defects, 
ordered  him  to  be  strangled.  Such  was  the  fat* 
of  Apollodorus,  whose  misfortune  it  was  to  have  an 
Emperor  for  his  rival. 

They  are  now  clearing  the  steps  which  lead  tc 
this  temple,  from  which  it  appears  that  the  length 
of  the  portico  in  front  was  three  hundred  feet,  and 
of  the  side  five  hundred  feet. 

While  I  was  among  these  ruins,  I  was  struck  by 
a  little  limped  fountain,  which  gushed  from  the 
crumbling  wall  and  lost  itself  among  the  fragments 
of  the  marble  pavement.  All  looked  dreary  and 
desolate;  and  that  part  of  the  ruin  which  from  its 
situation  must  have  been  the  sanctiun  sanctorum, 
the  shrine  of  the  divinity  of  the  place,  is  now  a 
receptacle  of  filth  and  every  conceivable  abomina- 
tion. 


186  ROME. 

I  walked  on  to  the  ruins  now  called  the  Basi- 
lica of  Constantinc,  once  the  Temple  of  Peace. 
This  edifice  was  in  a  bad  style,  and  constmcted  at 
a  period  when  the  arts  were  at  a  low  ebb :  yet  the 
ruins  are  vast  and  magnificent.  The  exact  direc- 
tion of  the  Via  Sacra  has  long  been  a  subject  ol 
vehement  dispute.  They  have  now  laid  open  a 
part  of  it  which  ran  in  front  of  the  Basilica  :  the 
pavement  is  about  twelve  feet  below  the  present 
pavement  of  Rome,  and  the  soil  turned  up  in  their 
excavations  is  formed  entirely  of  crumbled  brick- 
work and  mortar,  and  fragments  of  marble,  por- 
phyry, and  granite.  I  returned  by  the  Forum  and 
the  Capitol,  through  the  Forums  of  Nerva  and 
Trajan,  and  so  over  the  Monte  Cavallo,  home. 

23. — Last  night  we  had  a  numerous  party  and 
Signor  P.  and  his  daughter  came  to  sing.  S/ie  is 
a  private  singer  of  great  talent,  and  came  attended 
by  her  lover  or  her  fiance;  who,  according  to  the 
Italian  custom,  attends  his  mistress  every  where 
during  the  few  weeks  which  precede  their  mar- 
riage. He  is  a  young  artist,  a  favorite  pupil  of 
Camuccini,  and  of  very  quiet  unobtrusive  manners. 
La  P.  has  the  misfortune  to  be  plain  ;  her  features 
are  irregular,  her  complexion  of  a  sickly  paleness, 
and  though  her  eyes  are  large  and  dark,  they  ap- 
peared totally  devoid  of  lustre  and  expression. 
Her  plainness,  the  bad  taste  of  her  dress,  her  aw"k- 
ward  figure,  and  her  timid  and  embarrassed  de- 


187 


portment,  all  furnished  matter  of  amusement  and 
observation  to  some  young  people,  (English  of 
course,)  whose  propensities  for  quizzing  exceeded 
their  good-breeding  and  good-nature.  Though 
La  P.  does  not  understand  a  word  of  either  French 
or  English,  I  thought  she  could  not  mistake  the 
significant  looks  and  wliispers  of  which  she  was 
the  object,  and  I  was  in  pain  for  her,  and  for  her 
modest  lover.  I  drew  my  chair  to  the  piano,  and 
tried  to  divert  her  attention  by  keeping  her  in  con- 
versation, but  I  could  get  no  farther  than  a  few 
questions  which  were  answered  in  monosyllables 
At  length  she  sang — and  sang  divinely :  1  found 
the  pale  automaton  had  a  soul  as  well  as  a  voice. 
Afler  giving  us,  with  faultless  execution,  as  well  as 
great  expression,  some  of  Rossini's  finest  songs, 
she  sung  the  beautiful  and  difficult  cavatina  in 
Otello,  "  Asxisa  al  pie  d'un  Salice"  with  the  most 
enchanting  style  and  pathos,  and  then  stood  as 
unmoved  as  a  statue  while  the  company  applauded 
loud  and  long.  A  moment  afterwards,  as  she 
stooped  to  take  up  a  music  book,  her  lover,  who 
had  edged  himself  by  degrees  from  the  door  to 
the  piano,  bent  his  head  too,  and  murmured  in  a 
low  voice,  but  with  the  most  passionate  accent, 
"  O  brava,  brava  cara  !  "  She  replied  only  by  a 
look — but  it  was  such  a  look  !  I  never  saw  a 
human  countenance  so  entirely,  so  instantaneously 
changed  in  character:  the  vacant  eyes  kindled 
and  beamed   with  tenderness :   the    pale    cheek 


glowed,  and  a  bright  smile  plajdng  round  her 
mouth,  just  parted  her  lips  sufficiently  to  discover 
a  set  of  teeth  like  pearls.  I  could  have  called  her 
at  that  moment  beautiful ;  but  the  change  was  as 
transient  as  sudden — it  passed  like  a  gleam  of 
light  over  her  face  and  vanished,  and  by  the  time 
the  book  was  placed  on  the  desk,  she  looked  as 
plain,  as  stupid,  and  as  statue-like  as  ever.  I  was 
the  only  person  who  had  witnessed  this  little  by- 
scene  ;  and  it  gave  me  pleasant  thoughts  and 
interest  for  the  rest  of  the  evening. 

Another  trait  of  character  occurred  afterwards, 
which  amused  me,  but  in   a  very  diffei'ent  style. 

Our  new  Danish  friend,  the  Baron  B ,  told  us 

he  had  once  been  present  at  the  deiapitation  of 
nine  men,  having  first  fortified  himself  with  a  large 
goblet  of  brandy.  After  describing  the  scene  in  all 
its  horrible  details,  and  assuring  us  in  his  bad  Ger- 
man French  that  it  was  "  une  chose  Men  mauvaise 
a  voir,"  I  could  not  help  asking  him  with  a  shudder, 
how  he  felt  afterwards  ;  whether  it  was  not  weeks 
or  months  before  the  impressions  of  hon-or  left  his 
mind  ?  He  answered  with  smiling  naivete  and 
taking  a  pinch  of  snufF,  "  Mafoi  I  madame,je  n'ai 
pas  pu  manr/er  cle  la  viande  toute  cette  journee-la  V 
***** 

27. — We  drove  to  the  Palazzo  Spada,  to  see  the 
famous  Spada  Pompey,  said  to  be  the  very  statue 
at  the  base  of  which  Caesar  fell.  I  was  pleased  to 
find,  contrary  to  my  expectations,  that  this  statue 


ROME.  189 

h'JS  great  intrinsic  merit,  besides  its  celebrity,  to 
recommend  it.  The  extremities  of  the  limbs  have 
a  certain  clumsiness  which  may  perhaps  be  a 
feature  of  resemblance,  and  not  a  fault  of  the 
sculptor;  but  the  attitude  is  noble,  and  the  like- 
ness of  the  head  to  the  undisputed  bust  of  Pompey 
in  the  Florentine  gallery,  struck  me  immediately. 
The  Palazzo  Spada,  with  its  splendid  architecture, 
dirt,  discomfort,  and  dilapidation,  is  a  fair  specimen 
of  the  Roman  palaces  iu  general.  It  contains  a 
corridor,  which  from  an  architectural  deception 
appears  much  longer  than  it  really  is.  I  bate 
tricks — in  architecture  especially.  We  afterwards 
visited  the  Pantheon,  the  Church  of  Santa  Maria 
sopra  Minerva,  (an  odd  combination  of  names,)  and 
concluded  the  morning  at  Canova's.  It  is  one  of 
the  pleasures  of  Rome  to  lounge  in  the  studj  of 
the  best  sculptors;  and  it  is  at  Rome  only  that 
sculpture  seems  to  flourish  as  in  its  native  soil. 
Rome  is  truly  the  city  of  the  soul,  the  home  of  art 
and  artists.  AVith  the  divine  models  of  the  Vatican 
ever  before  their  eyes,  these  inspiring  skies  above 
their  heads,  and  the  quarries  of  marble  at  a  con- 
venient distance — it  is  here  only  they  can  conceive 
and  execute  those  "works  which  are  formed  from 
the  beau-ideal ;  but  it  is  not  here  they  meet  with 
patronage  :  the  most  beautiful  things  I  have  seen 
at  the  various  studj  have  all  been  executed  for 
English,  German,  and  Russian  noblemen.  The 
names  I  heard  most  frequently  were  those  of  the 


190 


Dukes  of  Bedford  and  Devonshire,  Prince  Estef> 
hazy,  and  the  King  of  England. 

Canova  has  been  accused  of  a  want  of  simplic^ 
ity,  and  of  giving  a  too  voluptuous  expression  to 
some  of  his  figures :  with  all  my  admiration  of  his 
genius,  I  confess  the  censure  just.  It  is  particu- 
larly observable  in  the  Clori  svegllata,  (the  Nymph 
awakened  by  Love,)  the  Cupid  and  Psyche  for 
Prince  Yousouppofl",  the  Endymion,  the  Graces, 
and  some  others. 

In  some  of  Thorwaldson's  works  there  is  exquis- 
ite grace,  simplicity,  and  expression  :  the  Shepherd 
Boy,  the  Adonis,  the  Jason,  and  the  Hebe,  have  a 
great  deal  of  antique  spirit.  I  did  not  like  the 
colossal  Christ  which  the  sculptor  has  just  finished 
in  clay  :  it  is  a  proof  that  bulk  alone  does  not  con- 
stitute sublimity  :  it  is  deficient  in  dignity,  or  rather 
in  divinity. 

At  Rodolf  Schadow's,  I  was  most  pleased  by  the 
Cupid  and  the  Filatrice.  His  Cupid  is  certainly 
the  most  beautiful  Cupid  I  ever  saw,  superior,  I 
think,  both  to  Canova's  and  to  Thorwaldson's. 
The  Filatrice,  though  so  exquisitely  natural  and 
graceful,  a  little  disappointed  me  ;  I  had  heard  much 
of  it,  and  had  formed  in  my  own  imagination  an 
idea  different  and  superior  to  what  I  saw.  This 
beautiful  figure  has  repose,  simplicity,  nature,  and 
grace,  but  I  felt  a  want — the  want  of  some  internal 
sentiment :  for  instance,  if,  instead  of  watching  the 
rotation  of  her  spindle  with  such  industrious  atten- 


191 


lion,  the  Filatrice  had  looked  careless,  or  absent, 
or  pensive,  or  disconsolate,  (like  Faust's  Margaret 
at  her  spinning-wheel,)  she  would  have  been  more 
interesting — but  not  perhaps  what  the  sculptor  in- 
tended to  represent. 

Schadow  is  111,  but  we  were  admitted  by  his 
order  into  his  private  study  ;  we  saw  there  the 
Bacchante,  which  he  has  just  finished  in  clay,  and 
which  is  to  emulate  or  rival  Canova's  Dansatrice. 
He  has  been  at  work  upon  a  small  but  beautiful 
figure  of  a  piping  Shepherd-boy,  which  is  just 
made  out :  beside  it  lay  Virgil's  Eclogues,  and  his 
spectacles  were  between  the  leaves.* 

Almost  every  thing  I  saw  at  Max  Laboureur's 
struck  me  as  vapid  and  finikin.  There  were  some 
pretty  groups,  but  nothing  to  tempt  me  to  visit  it 
again. 

***** 

30. — We  spent  the  whole  morning  at  the  Villa 
Albani,  where  there  is  a  superb  collection  of  an- 
tique marbles,  most  of  them  brought  from  the 
Villa  of  Adrian  at  Tivoli.  To  note  down  even  a 
few  of  the  objects  which  pleased  me,  would  be  an 
endless  task.  I  think  the  busts  interested  me 
most.     There  is  a  basso-relievo  of  Antinous— the 


*  Poor  Schadow  died  yesterday.  He  caught  cold  the  other 
eyening  at  the  Duke  of  Bracciano's  uncomfortable,  ostentatious 
palace,  where  we  heard  him  complaining  of  the  cold  of  the  Mosaic 
floors :  three  days  afterwards  he  was  no  more,  lie  is  universally 
regretted. — Author's  note. 


192 


beautiful  head  declined  in  his  usual  pensive  atti- 
tude :  it  is  the  most  finished  and  faultless  piece  of 
sculpture  in  relievo  I  ever  saw;  and  as  perfect 
and  as  polished  as  if  it  came  from  the  chisel  yes- 
terday. There  is  another  basso-relievo  of  Marcus 
Aurelius,  and  Faustina,  equal  to  the  la-st  in  execu- 
tion, but  not  in  interest. 

We  found  Rogers  in  the  gardens :  the  old  poet 
was  sunning  himself — walking  up  and  down  a 
beautiful  marble  portico,  lined  with  works  of  art, 
with  his  note-book  in  his  hand.  I  am  told  he  is 
now  writing  a  poem  of  which  Italy  is  the  subject ; 
and  here,  with  all  the  Campagna  di  Roma  spread 
out  before  him — above  him,  the  sunshine  and  the 
cloudless  skies — and  all  around  him,  the  remains 
of  antiquity  in  a  thousand  elegant,  or  venerable, 
or  fanciful  forms :  he  could  not  have  chosen  a  more 
genial  spot  for  inspiration.  Though  we  disturbed 
his  poetical  reveries  rather  abruptly,  he  met  us 
with  his  usual  amiable  courtesy,  and  conversed 
most  delightfully.  I  never  knew  him  more  pleas- 
ant, and  never  saw  him  so  animated. 

Our  departure  from  Rome  has  been  postponed 
from  day  to  day  in  consequence  of  a  trijling  acci- 
dent. An  Austrian  colonel  was  taken  by  the 
banditti  near  Fondi,  and  carried  up  into  the 
mountains :  ten  thousand  scudi  were  demanded 
for  his  ransom ;  and  for  many  days  past,  the 
whole  city  has  been  in  a  state  of  agitation  and 
suspense  about  his  ultimate  fate.     The  Austrians, 


19S 


roused  by  the  insult,  sent  a  large  body  of  troops 
(some  say  tliree  thousand  men)  against  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  robbers,  threatening  to  exter- 
minate them.  They  were  pursued  so  closely,  that 
after  dragging  their  unfortunate  captive  over  the 
mountains  from  one  fastness  to  another,  till  he  was 
nearly  dead  from  exhaustion  and  ill-treatment, 
they  either  abandoned  or  surrendered  liim  without 
terms.  The  troops  immediately  marched  back  to 
Naples,  and  the  matter  rests  here  :  I  cannot  learn 
that  any  thing  farther  will  be  done.  The  robbers 
being  at  present  panic-struck  by  such  unusual 
energy  and  activity,  and  driven  from  their  accus- 
tomed haunts,  by  these  valorous  champions  of 
good  order  and  good  policy,  it  is  considered  that 
the  road  is  now  more  open  and  safe  than  it  has 
been  for  some  time,  and  if  nothing  new  happens  to 
alarm  us,  we  set  off  on  Friday  next. 

I  visited  to-day  the  baths  of  Dioclesian,  and 
the  noble  church  which  Michel  Angelo  has  con- 
structed upon,  and  out  of,  their  gigantic  ruins.  It 
has  all  that  grand  simplicity,  that  entlreness  which 
characterizes  his  works:  it  contains,  too,  some  ad- 
mirable pictures.  On  leaving  th<5  church,  I  saw 
on  each  side  of  the  door,  the  moimments  of  Sal- 
vatoi  Rosa  and  Carlo  Maratti — what  a  contrast  do 
they  exhibit  in  their  genius,  in  their  works,  In 
their  characters,  in  their  countenances,  in  their 
lives!  Near  this  church  (the  Santa  Maria  dei 
Angeli)  Is  the  superb  fountain  of  the  Acqua 
13 


194  ROME. 

Felice,  tbe  first  view  oi'  which  rather  disappointed 
me.  I  had  been  told  that  it  represented  Mosea 
striking  the  rock, — a  magnificent  idea  for  a  foun- 
tain !  Dui.  the  execution  falls  short  of  the  concep- 
tion. The  water,  instead  of  gushing  from  the 
rock,  is  poured  out  from  the  mouths  of  two  pro- 
digious lions  of  basalt,  brought,  I  believe,  from 
Upper  Egypt:  they  seem  misplaced  here.  A 
little  beyond  the  Ponta  Pia  is  the  Campo  Scelerato, 
where  the  Vestals  were  interred  alive.  We  after- 
wards drove  to  the  Santi  Apostoli  to  see  the  tomb 
of  the  excellent  Ganganelli,  by  Canova.  Then  to 
Sant'  Ignazio,  to  see  the  famous  ceiling  painted  in 
perspective  by  the  Jesuit  Pozzo.  Tlie  ell'ect  is 
certainly  marvellous,  making  the  interior  appear 
to  the  eye,  at  least  twice  the  height  it  really  is ; 
but  though  the  Illusion  pleased  me  as  a  work  of 
art,  I  thought  the  trickery  unnecessary  and  mis- 
placed. At  the  magnificent  church  of  the  Gesuiti 
(where  there  are  two  entire  columns  of  giallo  an- 
tico)  I  saw  a  list  of  relics  for  which  the  church  is 
celebrated,  and  whose  efficacy  and  sanctity  were 
vouched  for  by  a  very  respectable  catalogue  of 
miracles.  Among  these  relics  there  are  a  few 
worth  mentioning  for  their  oddity,  viz  :  one  of  the 
Virgin's  shifts,  three  of  her  hairs,  and  the  skirt  of 
Joseph's  coat. 

31. — We  spent  nearly  the  whole  day  in  the 
gallery  of  the  Vatican,  and  in  the  Pauline  and 
S'stine  chapels. 


JOUKNEY   TO   NAPLES.  195 


JOURNEY   TO   NAPLES. 


February  1,  at  Velletri. 

I  LEFT  Rome  this  morning  exceedingly  de^ 
pressed  :  Madame  de  Stael  may  well  call  travelling 
wi  triste  plaisir.  ]\Iy  depression  did  not  arise  from 
the  feeling  that  I  left  behind  me  any  thing  or  any 
person  to  regret,  but  from  mixed  and  melancholy 
emotions,  and  partly  perhaps  from  that  weakness 
which  makes  my  hand  tremble  while  I  write — 
which  has  bound  down  my  mind,  and  all  its  best 
powers,  and  all  its  faculties  of  enjoyment,  to  a 
languid  passiveness,  making  me  feel  at  every  mo- 
ment, I  am  not  what  I  was,  or  ought  to  be,  or 
might  have  been. 

We  arrived,  after  a  short  and  most  delightful 
journey  by  Albano,  the  Lake  Nemi,  Gensao,  &c., 
at  Velletri,  the  birthplace  of  that  wretch  Octa- 
vius,  and  famous  for  its  wine.  The  day  has  been 
as  soft  and  as  sunny  as  a  INIay-day  in  England, 
and  the  country,  through  which  we  travelled  but 
too  rapidly,  beyond  description  lovely.  The  blue 
Mediterranean  spread  far  to  the  west,  and  on  the 
right  we  had  the  snowy  mountains,  with  their  wild 
fantastic  peaks  "  rushing  on  the  sky."     I  felt  it  all 


196  JOURNEY   TO   NAPLES. 

in  my  heart  with  a  mixture  of  sadness  and  delight 
which  I  cannot  express. 

This  land  was  made  by  nature  a  paradise  :  it 
seems  to  want  no  charm  "  unborrowed  from  the 
eye," — but  how  has  memory  sanctified,  history 
illustrated,  and  poetry  illumined  the  scenes  around 
us ;  where  every  rivulet  had  its  attendant  nymph, 
where  every  wood  was  protected  by  its  sylvan 
divinity  ;  where  every  tower  has  its  tale  of  hero- 
ism, and  "  not  a  mountain  lifts  its  head  unsung;" 
and  though  the  faith,  the  glory,  and  the  power  of 
the  antique  time  be  passed  away — still 

A  spirit  hangs. 
Beautiful  region!  o'er  thy  towns  and  farms, 
Statues  and  temples,  and  memorial  tombs. 

I  can  allow  that  one  half,  at  least,  of  the  beauty 
and  interest  we  see,  lies  in  our  own  souls ;  that  it 
is  our  owu  enthusiasm  which  sheds  this  mantle  of 
light  over  all  we  behold :  but,  as  colors  do  not 
exist  in  the  objects  themselves,  but  in  the  rays 
which  paint  them — so  beauty  is  not  less  real  is 
not  less  BEAUTY,  because  it  exists  in  the  medium 
through  which  we  view  certain  objects,  rather 
than  in  those  objects  themselves.  I  have  met 
persons  who  think  they  display  a  vast  deal  of 
common  sense,  and  very  uncommon  strength  of 
mind,  in  rising  superior  to  all  prejudices  of  educa- 
tion and  illusions  of  romance — to  whom  enthusi- 
asm  is  onlyr  another  name  for  afl'ectation — who, 


JOURNEY   TO   NAPLES.  197 

where  the  cultivated  and  the  contemplative  mind 
finds  ample  matter  to  excite  feeling  and  reflection, 
give  themselves  airs  of  fashionable  nonchalance, 
or  flippant  scorn — to  whom  the  crumbling  ruin  is 
so  much  brick  and  mortar,  no  more — to  whom  the 
tomb  of  the  Horatii  and  Curiatii  is  a  stacTc  of  chim- 
nei/.'i,  the  Pantheon  an  old  oven,  and  the  Fountain 
of  Egeria  a  pig-sty.  Are  such  persons  aware  that 
in  all  this  there  is  an  affectation,  a  thousand  times 
more  gross  and  contemptible  than  that  affectation 
(too  frequent  perhaps)  which  they  design  to 
ridicule  ? 

"  Whose  mind  is  but  the  mind  of  his  own  eyes, 
He  is  a  slave — the  meanest  we  can  meet." 

2. — Our  journey  to-day  has  been  long  but  de- 
lightfully diversified,  and  abounding  in  classical 
beauty  and  interest.  I  scarce  know  what  to  say 
now  that  I  open  my  little  book  to  record  my  own 
sensations :  they  are  so  many,  so  various,  so  pain 
ful,  so  delicious — my  senses  and  my  imagination 
have  been  so  enchanted,  my  heart  so  very  heavy — 
where  shall  I  begin  ? 

In  some  of  the  scenes  of  to-day — at  Terracina, 
particularly,  there  was  beauty  beyond  what  I  ever 
beheld  or  imagined  :  the  scenery  of  Switzerland  is 
of  a  different  character,  and  on  a  different  scale  : 
it  is  beyond  comparison  grander,  more  gigantic, 
more  overpowering,  but  it  is  not  so  poetical. 
Switzerland   is  not  Italy — is  not   the   enchanting 


198  JOURNEY    TO   NAPLES. 

south.  Tliis  soft  balmy  air,  these  myrtles,  orange- 
groves,  palm-trees;  these  cloudless  skies,  thia 
bright  blue  sea,  and  sunny  hills,  all  breathe  of  an 
enchanted  land ;  "  a  land  of  Faery." 

Between  Velletri  and  Terracina,  the  road  runs 
in  one  undeviating  line  through  the  Pontine 
Marshes.  The  accounts  we  have  of  the  baneful 
effects  of  the  malaria  here,  and  the  absolute 
solitude,  (not  a  human  face  or  a  human  habitation 
intervening  fiom  one  post-house  to  another,)  invest 
the  wild  landscape  with  a  frightful  and  peculiar 
character  of  desolation.  As  for  the  mere  exterior 
of  the  country,  I  have  seen  more  wretched  and 
sterile  looking  spots,  (in  France,  for  instance,) 
but  none  that  so  affected  the  imagination  and  the 
spirits.  On  leaving  the  Pontine  Marshes,  we  came 
almost  suddenly  upon  the  sunny  and  luxuriant 
region  near  Terracina :  here  was  the  ancient  city 
of  Anxur ;  and  the  gothic  ruins  of  the  castle  of 
Theodoric,  which  frown  on  the  steep  above,  are 
contrasted  with  the  delicate  and  Grecian  propor- 
tions of  the  temple  below.  All  the  country  round 
is  famed  in  classic  and  poetic  lore.  The  Promon- 
tory (once  poetically  the  island)  of  Circe  is  still 
the  Monte  Circello :  here  was  the  region  of  the 
Lestrygons,  and  the  scene  of  part  of  the  ^neld 
and  Odyssey ;  and  Corinne  has  superadded  roman- 
tic and  charming  associations  quite  as  delightful, 
and  quite  as  true. 

Antiquarians,   who,  like    politicians,   "  seem   to 


JOURNEY   TO   NAPLES.  199 

Bee  the  things  that  are  not,"  have  placed  all  along 
this  road,  the  sites  of  many  a  celebrated  town  and 
fane — "  making  hue  and  cry  after  many  a  city 
■which  has  run  away,  and  by  certain  marks  and 
tokens  pursuing  to  find  it ; "  as  some  old  author 
Bays  so  quaintly.  At  every  hundred  yards,  frag- 
ments of  masonry  are  seen  b}'  the  roadside  ;  por- 
tions of  brickwork,  sometimes  traced  at  the  bottom 
of  a  dry  ditch,  or  incorporated  into  a  fence ;  some- 
times peeping  above  the  myrtle  bushes  on  the  wild 
hills,  where  the  green  lizards  lie  basking  and 
glittering  on  them  in  thousands,  and  the  stupid 
ferocious  buffalo,  wuth  his  fierce  red  eyes,  rubs  his 
hide  and  glares  upon  us  as  we  pass.  No — not  the 
grandest  monuments  of  Rome — not  the  Coliseum 
itself,  in  all  its  decaying  magnificence,  ever  inspired 
me  with  such  profound  emotions  as  did  those  name- 
less, shapeless  vestiges  of  the  dwellings  of  man, 
starting  up  like  memorial  tombs  in  the  midst  of  this 
savage  but  luxuriant  wilderness.  Of  the  beautiful 
cities  which  rose  along  this  lovely  coast,  the  colo- 
nies of  elegant  and  polished  Greece — one  after 
another  swallowed  up  by  the  "  insatiate  maw  "  of 
ancient  Rome,  nothing  remains — their  sites,  their 
very  names  have  passed  away  and  perished.  We 
might  as  well  hunt  after  a  forgotten  dream. 

Vain  was  the  chief's,  the  sage's  pride, 
They  had  no  poet,  and  they  died ! 
In  vain  they  toil'd,  in  vain  they  bled, 
They  had  uo  poet — and  are  dea  1. 


200  JOURNEY   TO   NAPLES. 

I  write  this  at  Gaeta — a  name  famous  in  the 
poetical,  the  classical,  the  military  story  of  Italy, 
from  the  days  of  ^neas,  from  whom  it  received 
its  appellation,  down  to  the  annals  of  the  late  war 
On  the  site  of  our  inn,  (the  Albergo  di  Cicerone,) 
stood  Cicero's  Formian  Villa ;  and  in  an  adjoining 
grove  he  was  murdered  in  his  litter  by  the  satellites 
of  the  Trium-vdri,  as  he  attempted  to  escape.  I 
stood  to-night  on  a  little  terrace,  which  hung  over 
an  orange  grove,  and  enjoyed  a  scene  which  I 
would  paint,  if  words  were  forms,  and  hues,  and 
sounds — not  else.  A  beautiful  bay,  enclosed  by 
the  Mola  di  Gaeta,  on  one  side,  and  the  Promon- 
tory of  Misenum  on  the  other :  the  sky  studded 
with  stars,  and  reflected  in  a  sea  as  blue  as  itself — 
and  so  glassy  and  unruffled,  it  seemed  to  slumber 
in  tlie  moonlight :  now  and  then  the  murmur  of  a 
wave,  not  hoarsely  breaking  on  rock  and  shingles, 
but  kissing  the  turfy  shore,  where  oranges  and 
myrtles  grew  down  to  the  water  edge.  These,  and 
the  remembrances  connected  with  all,  and  a  mind 
to  think,  and  a  heart  to  feel,  and  thoughts  both  of 
pain  and  pleasure  mingling  to  render  the  effect 
more  deep  and  touching. — Why  should  I  write 
fhis  ?     O  surely  I  need  not  fear  that  I  sha.11  forget  J 


JOURNEt    TO   NAPLES.  201 


BTJITTEN   AT   MOLA   DI    GAETA,   NEAR  THE  RUINS   OF 
'    CICERO'S   FOKSIIA2f  VILXuV. 

We  wandered  tlu-ough  bright  climes,  and  drank  th » 

beams 
Of  southern  suns :  Elysian  scenes  we  view'd, 
Such  as  we  picture  oft  in  those  day  dreams 
That  haunt  the  fancy  in  her  wUdest  mood. 
Upon  the  sea-beat  vestiges  we  stood, 
Where  Cicero  dwelt  and  watch'd  the  latest  gleams 
Of  rosy  light  steal  o'er  the  azure  flood : 
And  memory  conjvir  d  np  most  glowing  themes, 
Filling  the  expanded  heart,  tiU  it  forgot 
Its  own  peculiar  grief! — 0 !  if  the  dead 
Yet  haunt  our  earth,  around  this  hallow'd  spot, 
Hovei-s  sweet  Tully's  spirit,  since  it  fled 
The  Roman  Forum — Forum  now  no  more ! 
Though  cold  and  silent  be  the  sands  we  tread, 
StiU  bums  the  "  eloqiient  air,"  and  to  the  shore 
There  rolls  no  wave,  and  through  the  orange  shade 
There  sighs  no  breath,  which  doth  not  speak  of  hire 
The  FATHER  OF  HIS  country:  and  though  dim 
Her  day  of  empire — and  her  laurel  crown 
Tom  and  defaced,  and  soiled  with  blood  and  tears, 
And  her  imperial  eagles  trampled  down — 
StiU  with  a  queen-like  grace,  Italia  wears 
Her  garland  of  bright  names, — her  coronal  of  stars, 
(Radiant  memorials  of  departed  worth!) 
That  shed  a  glory  round  her  pensive  brow. 
And  make  her  still  the  worship  of  the  earth. 


202 


NAPLES. 

''  Sunday,  Sd. 

We  left  Gaeta  early.  If  the  scene  was  so  beau- 
tiful in  the  evening — how  bright,  how  lovely  it  was 
this  morning  !  The  sun  had  not  long  risen  ;  and  a 
Boft  purple  mist  hung  over  part  of  the  sea ;  while 
to  the  north  and  west  the  land  and  water  sparkled 
and  glowed  in  the  living  light.  Some  little  fishing 
boats  which  had  just  put  off,  rocked  upon  the 
glassy  sea,  which  lent  them  a  gentle  motion,  though 
itself  appeared  all  mirror-like  and  motionless.  The 
orange  and  lemon  trees  in  full  foliage  literally  bent 
over  the  water;  and  it  was  so  warm  at  half-past 
eight  that  I  felt  their  shade  a  relief. 

After  leaving  Gaeta,  the  first  place  of  note  is  or 
was  Minturnum,  where  Marius  was  taken,  con- 
cealed in  the  marshes  near  it.  The  marshes  remain, 
the  city  has  disappeared.  Capua  is  still  a  large 
town  ;  but  it  certainly  does  not  keep  up  its  ancient 
fame  for  luxury  and  good  cheer :  for  we  found  it 
extremely  difficult  to  procure  any  thing  to  eat. 
The  next  town  is  Avversa,  a  name  unknown,  I 
believe,  in  the  classical  history  of  Italy :  it  was 
founded,  if  I  remember  rightly,  by  the  Norman 
knights.     Near  this  place  is  or  was  the  convent 


NAPLES.  203 

where  Queen  Joanna  strangled  her  husband  An- 
drea, with  a  silken  cord  of  her  own  weaving.  So 
says  the  story :   noii  lo  credo  in. 

From  Avversa  to  Naples  the  country  is  not  in- 
teresting ;  but  fertile  and  rich  beyond  description : 
an  endless  succession  of  vineyards  and  orange 
groves.  At  length  we  reached  Naples ;  all  tired 
and  in  a  particularly  sober  and  serious  mood  :  we 
remembered  it  was  the  Sabbath,  and  had  forgotten 
that  it  was  the  first  day  of  the  Carnival ;  and  great 
was  our  amazement  at  the  scene  which  met  us  on 
our  arrival — 

I  looked,  I  stared,  I  smiled.  I  laughed:   and  all 
The  weight  of  sadness  was  in  wonder  lost. 

The  whole  city  seemed  one  vast  puppet-show ; 
and  the  noisy  gayety  of  the  crowded  streets  almost 
stunned  me.  One  of  the  first  objects  we  encoun- 
tered was  a  barouche  full  of  Turks  and  Sultanas, 
driven  by  an  old  woman  in  a  tawdry  court  dress 
as  coachman  ;  while  a  merry-andrew  and  a  harle- 
quin capered  behind  as  footmen.  Owing  to  the 
immense  size  of  the  city,  and  the  difficulty  of 
making  our  way  through  the  motley  throng  of 
masks,  beggars,  lazzaroni,  eating-stalls,  carts  and 
carriages,  we  were  nearly  three  hours  traversing 
the  streets  before  we  reached  our  inn  on  the 
Chiaja. 

1   feel   tired   and  over-excited :    I   have   been 


204  NAPLES. 

standing  on  my  balcony  looking  out  upon  tho 
moonlit  bay,  and  listening  to  the  mingled  shouts, 
the  laughter,  the  music  all  around  me ;  and  think- 
ing— till  I  feel  in  no  mood  to  wi-ite. 

***** 

7. — Last  night  we  visited  the  theatre  of  San 
Carlo.  It  did  not  strike  me  as  equal  to  the  Scala 
at  Milan.  The  form  is  not  so  fine,  the  extent  of 
the  stage  is,  or  appeared  to  be,  less ;  but  there  is 
infinitely  more  gilding  and  ornament:  the  niii-rors 
and  lights,  the  sky-blue  drapei'ies  produce  a  splen- 
did effect,  and  the  coup-d'oeil  is,  on  the  whole,  more 
gay,  more  theatre-like.  It  was  crowded  in  every 
part,  and  many  of  the  audience  were  in  dominos 
and  fancy  dresses  :  a  few  were  masked.  Rossini's 
Barbiere  di  Seviglia,  which  contains,  I  think,  more 
melody  than  all  his  other  operas  put  together,  (the 
Tancredi  perhaps  excepted,)  was  most  enchantingly 
Bung,  and  as  admirably  acted  ;  and  the  beautiful 
classical  ballet  of  "  Niobe  and  her  Children," 
would  have  appeared  nothing  short  of  perfection, 
had  I  not  seen  the  Didone  Abbandonata  at  Milan. 
But  they  have  no  actress  here  like  the  graceful, 
the  expressive  Pallerini ;   nor  any  actor  equal  to 

the  ^neas  of  the  Scala. 

***** 

The  Austrians,  who  are  paramount  here,  allow 
masks  only  twice  a  week,  Sundays  and  Thursdays. 
The  people  seem  determined  to  indemnify  them- 
selves for  this  restriction   on  their  pleasures  by 


205 


every  allowed  excess  dui-ing  tlie  two  days  of  mer- 
riment, wliicli  their  despotic  couquerors  have 
spared  them.  I  am  told  by  M  *  *  and  S  *  *,  our 
Italian  friends,  that  the  Carnival  is  now  fallen  off 
from  its  wild  spirit  of  fanciful  jrayety  ;  that  it  is 
stupid,  dull,  tasteless,  in  comparison  to  what  it  was 
formerly,  owing  to  the  severity  of  the  Austrian 
police.  I  know  nothing  about  the  propriety  of  the 
measures  whit-h  have  been  resorted  to  for  curbing 
the  excesses  of  the  Carnival ;  I  think  if  people  will 
run  away  Instead  of  fighting  for  their  national 
rights,  they  must  be  content  to  suffer  accordingly — 
but  I  meddle  not  with  politics,  and  with  all  my 
heart  abhor  them.  Whatever  the  gayetles  of  the 
Carnival  may  have  been  formerly,  it  is  scarce  pos- 
sible to  conceive  a  more  fantastic,  a  more  pictur- 
esque, a  more  laughable  scene  than  the  Strada  dl 
Toledo  exhibited  to-day  ;  the  whole  city  seemed 
to  wear  "  one  universal  grin  ;  "  and  such  an  Inces- 
sant fire  of  sugar-plums  (or  what  seemed  such) 
was  carried  on,  and  mth  such  eagerness  and  mimic 
fury,  that  when  our  carriage  came  out  of  the  con- 
flict, we  all  looked  as  if  a  sack  of  flour  had  been 
shaken  over  us.  The  Implements  used  In  this 
ridiculous  warfare,  are,  for  common  purposes,  little 
balls  of  plaster  of  Paris  and  flour,  made  to  resem- 
ble small  comfits  :  friends  and  acquaintances  pelted 
each  other  with  real  confetti,  and  those  of  the 
most  delicious  and  expensive  kinds.  A  double  file 
of  carriages  moved  in  a  contrary  direction  along  the 


206 


Corso ;  a  space  in  the  middle  and  on  each  side 
being  left  for  horsemen  and  pedestrians,  and  the 
most  exact  order  was  maintained  by  the  guards 
and  police  ;  so  that  if  by  chance  a  carriage  lost  its 
place  in  the  line  it  was  impossible  to  recover  it,  and 
it  was  immediately  obliged  to  leave  the  street,  and 
re-enter  by  one  of  the  extremities.  Besides  the 
warfare  carried  on  below,  the  balconies  on  each 
side  were  crowded  with  people  in  gay  or  grotesque 
dresses,  who  had  sacks  of  bon-bons  before  them, 
from  which  they  showered  volleys  upon  those  be- 
neath, or  aimed  across  the  street  at  each  other : 
some  of  them  filled  their  handkerchiefs,  and  then 
dexterously  loosening  the  corners,  and  taking  a 
certain  aim,  flung  a  volley  at  once.  Tliis  was  like 
a  cannon  loaded  with  grape-shot,  and  never  failed 
to  do  the  most  terrific  execution. 

Among  the  splendid  and  fanciful  equipages  of 
the  masqneraders,  was  one,  containing  the  Duke 
of  Monteleone's  family,  in  the  form  of  a  ship,  richly 
ornamented,  and  drawn  by  six  horses  mounted  by 
masks  for  postilions.  The  fore  part  of  the  vessel 
contained  tlie  Duke's  party,  dressed  in  various  gay 
costumes,  as  Tartar  warriors  and  Indian  queens. 
In  the  stern  were  the  servants  and  attendants,  tra- 
vestied in  the  most  grotesque  and  ludicrous  style. 
This  magnificent  and  unwieldly  car  had  by  some 
chance  lost  its  place  in  the  procession,  and  vainly 
endeavored  to  whip  in;  as  it  is  a  point  of  honor 
among  the  charioteers  not  to  yield  the  y;aj>\     Our 


NAPLES.  207 

coachman,  however,  was  ordered  (though  most  un- 
willing) to  draw  up  and  make  way  for  it ;  and 
this  little  civility  was  acknowledged,  not  only  by  a 
profusion  of  bows,  but  by  such  a  shower  of  deli- 
cious sugar  plums,  that  the  seats  of  our  carriage 
were  literally  covered  with  them,  and  some  of  the 
gentlemen  flung  into  our  laps  elegant  little  baskets, 
fastened  with  ribbons,  and  filled  with  exquisite 
sweetmeats.  I  could  not  enter  into  all  this  with 
much  spirit :  "  non  son  io  quel  ch'un  tempo  fui : " 
but  I  was  an  amused,  though  a  quiet  spectator ; 
and  sometimes  saw  much  more  than  those  who  were 
actually  engaged  in  the  battle.  I  observed  that 
to-day  our  carriage  became  an  object  of  attention, 
and  a  favorite  point  of  attack  to  several  parties  on 
foot,  and  in  carriages ;  antl  I  was  at  no  loss  to 
discover  the  reason.  I  had  with  me  a  lovely  girl, 
whose  truly  English  style  of  beauty,  her  brilliant 
bloom,  heightened  by  her  eager  animation,  her  lips 
dimpled  with  a  thousand  smiles,  and  her  whole 
countenance  radiant  with  glee  and  mischievous 
archness,  made  her  an  object  of  admiration,  which 
the  English  expressed  by  a  fixed  stare,  and  the 
Italians  by  sympathetic  smiles,  nods,  and  all  the 
usual  superlatives  of  delight.  Among  our  most  po- 
tent and  malignant  adversaries,  was  a  troup  of  ele- 
gant masks  in  a  long  open  carriage,  the  form  of 
■which  was  totally  concealed  by  the  boughs  of  laurel, 
and  wreaths  of  artificial  flowers,  with  which  it  was 
"iiovered.     It  was  drawn  by  six  fine  horses,  fanci- 


208 


fully  caparisoned,  ornamented  with  plumes  of"  feath- 
ers, and  led  by  grotesque  masks.  In  the  carriage 
stood  twelve  persons  in  black  silk  dominos,  black 
hats,  and  black  masks ;  with  plumes  of  crimson 
feathers,  and  rich  crimson  sashes.  They  were 
armed  with  small  painted  targets  and  tin  tubes, 
from  which  they  shot  volleys  of  confetti,  in  such 
(luantities,  and  with  such  dexterous  aim,  that  we 
were  almost  overwhelmed  whenever  we  passed 
them.  It  was  in  vain  we  returned  the  compliment ; 
our  small  shot  rattled  ou  their  masks,  or  bounded 
from  their  shields,  producing  only  shouts  of  laugh- 
ter at  our  expense. 

A  favorite  style  of  mask  here,  is  the  dress  of  an 
English  sailor,  straw  hats,  blue  jackets,  white  trow- 
sers,  and  very  white  masks  with  pink  cheeks:  we 
saw  hundreds  in  this  whimsical  costume. 

13. — On  driving  home  I'ather  late  this  evening, 
and  leaving  the  noise,  the  crowds,  the  confusion 
and  festive  folly  of  the  Strada  di  Toledo,  we  came 
suddenly  upon  a  scene,  which,  from  its  beauty,  no 
less  than  by  the  force  of  contrast,  strongly  im- 
pi-essed  my  imagination.  The  shore  was  silent, 
and  almost  solitary  :  the  bay  as  smooth  as  a  mir- 
ror, and  as  still  as  a  frozen  lake  ;  the  sky,  the  sea, 
the  mountains  round  were  all  of  the  same  hue, 
a  soft  grey  tinged  with  violet,  except  where  the 
sunset  had  left  a  narrow  crimson  streak  along 
the  edge  of  the  sea.  There  was  not  a  breeze, 
not  the  slightest  breath  of  air,  and  a  single  vessel, 


NAPLES.  209 

a  frigate  with  all  its  white  sails  crowded,  lay  mo- 
tionless as  a  monument  on  the  bosom  of  the  waters, 
in  which  it  was  reflected  as  in  a  mirror.  I  have 
seen  the  bay  more  splendidly  beautiful ;  but  I 
never  saw  so  peculiar,  so  lovely  a  picture.  It 
lasted  but  a  short  time ;  the  transparent  purple 
veil  became  a  dusky  pall,  and  night  and  shadow 

gradually  enveloped  the  whole.* 

*  *  *  «  * 

How  I  love  these  resplendent  skies  and  blue  seas ! 
Nature  here  seems  to  celebrate  a  continual  Festa, 
and  to  be  forever  decked  out  in  holiday  costume! 
A  drive  along  the  '■^sempfebeataMergelUna  "  to  the 
extremity  of  the  Promontory  of  Pausilipjx)  is  posi- 
tive enchantment ;  thence  we  looked  over  a  land- 
scape of  such  splendid  and  unequalled  interest ! 
the  shores  of  Baia,  where  Cicero,  Horace,  Virgil, 
Pliny,  Mecaenas,  lived;  the  white  towers  of  Puz- 
zuoli  and  the  Islands  of  Ischia,  Procida,  and  Xisida. 
There  was  the  Sibyl's  Cave,  Lake  Acheron,  and 
the  fabled  Lethe  ;  there  the  sepulchre  of  Misenus, 
who  defied  the  Triton  ;  and  the  scene  of  the  whole 
sixth  book  of  the  .3ineid,  which  I  am  now  reading 
in  Annibal    Caro's   translation ;    there    Agrippina 


•  A  chasm  occurs  here  of  about  twenty  pages,  which  in 
the  original  MS.  are  torn  out.  Nearly  the  whole  of  what 
wa«  written  at  Naples  has  suffered  mutilation,  or  has  heen 
purposely  effaced;  60  tliat  in  many  piirts  only  a  detached 
Bentence,  or  a  few  words,  are  legible  in  the  course  of  several 
pages. — Editoe. 

14 


210 


mourned  Germanicus  ;  and  there  her  daughter  fell 
a  victim  to  her  monster  of  a  son.  At  our  feet  lay 
the  lovely  little  Island  of  Nisida,  the  spot  on  which 
Brutus  and  Portia  parted  for  the  last  time  before 
the  battle  of  Philippi. 

To  the  south  of  the  bay  the  scenery  is  not  less 
magnificent,  and  scarcely  less  dear  to  memory ; 
Naples,  rising  from  the  sea  like  an  amphitheatre  of 
white  palaces,  and  towers,  and  glittering  domes; 
beyond,  Mount  Vesuvius,  with  the  smoke  curling 
from  its  summit  like  a  silver  cloud,  and  foiuuing  the 
only  speck  upon  the  intense  bkie  sky  ;  along  its 
base  Portici,  Annunziata,  Torre  del  Greco,  glitter 
in  the  sun ;  every  white  building — almost  every 
window  in  every  building,  distinct  to  the  eye  at  the 
distance  of  several  miles  :  farther  on,  and  perched 
like  white  nests  on  the  mountainous  promontory, 
lie  Castel  a  Mare,  and  Sorrento,  the  birthplace  of 
Tasso,  and  his  asylum  when  the  injuries  of  his 
cold-hearted  persecutors  had  stung  him  to  madness, 
and  drove  him  here  for  refuge  to  the  arms  of  his 
sister.  Yet,  farther  on,  Capua  rises  from  the  sea,  a 
beautiful  object  in  itself,  but  from  which  the  fancy 
gladly  turns  to  dwell  again  upon  the  snowy  build- 
inas  of  Sorrento. 


0  de  la  liberty  vieille  et  sainte  patrie ! 
Terre  autrefois  feconde  en  sublimes  vertus ! 
Sous  d'indignes  Ct'sars  maintenaiit  asservie 
Ton  emj)ire  est  tomb^  !  tes  heros  ne  sent  plus! 


NAPLES.  211 

Mais  dans  son  sein  Tame  ag^andie 
Croit  sur  leiirs  monumeus  respirer  leur  g^nie, 
Comme  on  respire  encore  dans  un  temple  aboli 
La  Majesty  du  Dieu  dont  il  ^tait  rempli. 

De  la  IIaktink. 


THE 

SONG  OF  THE  SYREN  PARTHENOPE. 

A    RHAPSODY, 

WRITTEN   AT  NAPLES. 

Mine  are  these  waves,  and  minethe  twilight  depths 
O'er  which  they  roll,  and  all  these  tufted  isles 
That  lift  their  backs  like  dolphins  from  the  deep, 
And  all  these  sunny  sliores  that  gird  us  I'oiuid! 

Listen !  0  listen  to  the  Sea-maid's  shell ; 

Ye  who  have  wander'd  hither  from  far  climes, 

(Where  the  coy  summer  yields  but  half  her  sweeta. ) 

To  breathe  my  bland  luxurious  air?,  and  drink 

My  sunbeams !  and  to  revel  in  a  land 

Where  Nature — deck'd  out  like  a  bride  to  meet 

Her  lover — lays  forth  all  her  chaniis,  and  smiles 

Languidly  bright,  voluptuously  gay, 

Sweet  to  the  sense,  and  tender  to  the  heart. 

Listen!   0  listen  to  the  Sea-maid's  shell; 
Ye  who  have  fled  jour  natal  shores  in  hate 
Or  anger,  urged  by  pale  disease,  or  want. 
Or  gi"ief,  that  clingi  ig  like  the  spectre  bat. 
Sucks  drop  by  drop  the  life-blood  from  the  heart, 
And  hither  come  to  learn  forgetfulness, 


212  NAPLES. 

Or  to  (jrolong  existence !  ye  shall  find 

Roth — though  the  spring  Lethean  flow  no  more, 

There  is  a  power  in  these  entrancing  skies 

And  murmuring  waters  and  delicious  airs, 

Felt  in  the  dancing  spirits  and  the  blood, 

And  (ailing  on  the  lacerated  heart 

Like  balm,  until  that  life  becomes  a  boon. 

Which  elsewhere  is  a  burthen  and  a  curse. 

Hear  then — 0  hear  the  Sea-maid's  airy  shell. 

Lister.,  0  listen!  'tis  the  Syren  sings, 

The  spirit  of  the  deep — Partheuope — 

She  who  did  once  i'  the  dreamj-  days  of  old 

Sport  on  these  golden  sands  beneath  the  moon. 

Or  pour'd  the  ra\ishing  music  of  her  song 

Over  the  silent  waters;  and  bequeath'd 

To  all  these  sunny  capes  and  dazzling  shores 

Her  own  immortal  beauty  and  her  name. 


This  is  the  last  day  of  the  Carnival,  the  last 
night  of  the  opera  :  the  people  are  permitted  to  go 
in  masks,  and  after  the  performances  there  will  be 
a  ball.  To-day,  when  Baldi  was  describing  the  ex- 
cesses which  usually  take  place  during  the  last  few 
hours  of  the  Carnival,  he  said,  "  the  man  who  hag 
but  half  a  shirt  will  pawn  it  to-night  to  buy  a  good 
supper  and  an  opera-ticket :  to-morrow  for  fish  and 
soup-maigre — fasting  and  repentance  !  " 

Saturday,  23. — I  have  just  seen  a  most  magnifi- 
cent sight ;  one  which  I  have  often  dreamed  of, 
often  longed  to  behold,  and  having  beheld,  never 


NAPLES.  213 

sliall  foigot.  Mount  Vesuvius  is  at  this  moment 
blazing  like  a  huge  furnace  ;  throwing  up  every 
minute,  or  half  minute,  columns  of  fire  and  red-hot 
stones,  which  fall  in  showers  and  bound  down  the 
side  of  the  mountain.  On  the  east,  there  are  two 
distinct  streams  of  lava  descending,  which  glow 
with  almost  a  white  heat,  and  every  burst  of  flame 
is  accompanied  by  a  sound  resembling  cannon  at  a 
distance. — 

I  can  hardly  write,  my  mind  is  so  overflowing 
"with  astonishment,  admiration,  and  sublime  pleas- 
ure :  what  a  scene  as  I  looked  out  on  the  bay 
from  the  Santa  Lucia  !  On  one  side,  the  evening 
star  and  the  thread-like  crescent  of  the  new  moon 
were  setting  together  over  Pausilippo,  reflected  in 
lines  of  silver  radiance  on  the  blue  sea  ;  on  the 
other  the  broad  train  of  fierce  red  light  glared 
upon  the  water  with  a  fitful  splendor,  as  the  ex- 
plosions were  more  or  less  violent  :  before  me  all 
"was  so  soft,  so  lovely,  so  tranquil  !  while  I  had 
only  to  turn  my  head  to  be  awe-struck  by  the  con- 
vulsion of  fighting  elements. 

I  remember,  that  on  our  first  arrival  at  Naples, 
I  was  disappointed  because  Vesuvius  did  not 
smoke  so  much  as  I  had  been  led  to  expect  from 
pictures  and  descriptions.  The  smoke  then  lay 
like  a  scarcely  perceptible  cloud  on  the  highest 
point,  or  I'ose  in  a  slender  white  column  ;  to-day 
and  yesterday,  it  has  rolled  from  the  crater  ia 
black  volumes,  mixing  with  the  clouds  above,  and 
dai'kening  tiie  sky. 


214  NAPLES. 

Half-pant  twelve. — I  have  walked  out  again  ; 
the  blaze  from  the  crater  is  less  vivid ;  but  there 
are  now  four  streams  of  lava  issuing  from  it,  which 
have  united  in  two  broad  currents,  one  of  which 
extends  below  the  hermitage.  It  is  probable  that 
by  to-morrow  night  it  will  have  reached  the  lower 
part  of  the  mountain. 

Sundcvj,  24. — Just  returned  from  chapel  at  tho 
English  ambassador's,  where  the  service  was  read 
by  a  dandy  clergyman  to  a  crowd  of  fine  and  super- 
fine ladies  and  gentlemen,  crushed  together  into  a 
hot  room.  I  never  saw  extravagance  in  dres3 
carried  to  such  a  pitch  as  it  is  by  my  country- 
women here, — whether  they  dress  at  the  men  or 
against  each  other,  it  is  equally  bad  taste.  The 
sermon  to-day  was  very  appropriate,  from  the 
text,  "  Tale  ye  no  thought  what  ye  shall  eat,  or  what 
ye  shall  drink,  or  what  ye  shall  put  on,"  and,  I  dare 
say,  it  was  listened  to  with  singular  edification. 

5  o'clock. — ^Ve  have  been  driving  along  the 
Strada  Nuova  in  L  *  *'s  britchka,  whence  we  had 
a  fine  view  of  Vesuvius.  There  are  tremendous 
bursts  of  smoke  from  the  crater.  At  one  time  the 
•whole  mountain,  down  to  the  very  base,  was  almost 
enveloped,  and  the  atmosphere  around  it  loaded 
with  the  vapor,  which  seemed  to  issue  in  volumes 
half  as  large  as  the  mountain  itself.  If  horses  are 
to  be  had  we  go  up  to-night. 

Monday  nirjht. — I  am  not  in  a  humor  to  de- 
scribe or  give  way  to  any  poetical  flights,  but  I 


215 


must  endeavour  to  give  a  faithful,  S(  ber,  and  cir- 
cumstantial account  of  our  last  niglit's  expedition, 
■while  the  imprt^ssion  is  yet  fresh  on  my  mind  ; 
though  there  is,  I  think,  little  danger  of  my  for- 
getting. We  procured  horses,  which,  from  the 
number  of  persons  proceeding  on  the  same  errand 
with  ourselves,  was  a  matter  of  some  dilKculty.  We 
set  out  at  seven  in  the  evening  in  an  open  car- 
riage, and  almost  the  whole  way  we  had  the 
mountain  before  us,  spouting  fire  to  a  prodigious 
height.  The  road  was  crowded  with  groups  of 
people  who  had  come  out  from  the  city  and  en- 
virons to  take  a  nearer  view  of  the  magnificent 
spectacle,  and  numbers  were  hurrying  to  and  Iro 
in  those  little  flying  currlcoli  which  are  peculiar  to 
Naples.  As  we  approached,  the  explosions  be- 
came more  and  more  vivid,  and  at  every  tre- 
mendous burst  of  fire  our  friend  L  *  *  jumped  half 
oft"  his  seat,  making  most  loud  and  characteristic 
exclamations, — "  By  Jove  !  a  magnificent  fellow  ! 
now  for  it,  whizz  !  there  he  goes,  sky  high,  by 
George  ! "  The  rest  of  the  party  were  equally  en- 
thusiastic in  a  different  style;  and  I  sat  siknt  and 
quiet  from  absolute  inability  to  express  what  I  felt. 
I  was  almost  breathless  with  wonder,  and  excite- 
ment, and  impatience  to  be  nearer  the  scene  of 
action.  While  my  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  mountain, 
my  attention  was  from  time  to  time  excited  by 
regular  rows  of  small  shining  lights,  six  or  eight 
in  number,  creeuing,  as  it  seemed,  along  the  edge 


S16 


of  the  stream  of  lava ;  and,  when  contrasted  with 
the  red  blaze  which  i-ose  behind,  and  the  gigantic 
black  bat'kground,  looking  like  a  procession  of 
glow-worms.  These  were  the  torches  of  travellers 
ascending  the  mountain,  and  I  longed  to  be  one  of 
them. 

We  reached  Resina  a  little  before  nine,  and 
alighted  from  the  carriage  ;  the  ascent  being  so 
rugged  and  dangerous,  that  only  asses  and  mules 
accustomed  to  the  road  are  used.  Two  only  were 
in  waiting  at  the  moment  we  arrived,  which  L  *  * 
immediately  secured  for  me  and  himself;  and 
though  reluctant  to  proceed  without  the  rest  of  the 
party,  we  were  compelled  to  go  on  belbre,  that  we 
might  not  lose  time,  or  hazard  the  loss  of  our 
monture.  We  set  off  then,  each  with  two  attend- 
ants, a  man  to  lead  our  animals  and  a  torch- 
bearer.  The  road,  as  we  ascended,  became  more 
and  more  steep  at  every  step,  being  over  a  stream 
of  lava,  intermixed  with  stones  and  ashes,  and  the 
darkness  added  to  the  difficulty.  But  how  shall  I 
describe  the  scene  and  the  people  who  surrounded 
us  ;  the  landscape  partially  lighted  by  a  fearful 
red  glare,  the  precipitous  and  winding  road  bor- 
dered by  wild-looking  gigantic  aloes,  projecting 
their  huge  spear-like  leaves  almost  across  our 
path,  and  our  lazzaroni  attendants  with  their  shrill 
shouts,  and  strange  dresses,  and  wild  jargon,  and 
striking  features,  and  dark  eyes  flashing  in  the 
gleam  of  the  torches,  which  they  flung  round  their 


21? 


heads  to  prevent  their  being  extinguished,  formed 
a  scene  so  new,  so  extraordinary,  so  like  romance, 
that  my  attention  was  frequently  drawn  from  the 
mountain,  though  blazing  in  all  its  tumultuous 
magnificence. 

The  explosions  succeeded  each  other  with  ter- 
rific rapidity  about  two  in  every  three  minutes ; 
and  the  noise  I  can  only  compare  to  the  roaring 
and  hissing  of  ten  thousand  imprisoned  winds, 
mingled  at  times  willi  a  rumbling  sound  like 
artillery,  or  distant  thunder.  It  frequently  hap- 
pened that  the  guides,  in  dashing  their  torches 
against  the  ground,  set  fire  to  the  dried  thorns  and 
withered  grass,  and  the  blaze  ran  along  the  earth 
like  wildfire,  to  the  great  alarm  of  poor  L  *  *,  who 
saw  in  every  burning  bush  a  stream  of  lava  rushing 
to  overwhelm  us. 

Before  eleven  o'clock  we  reached  the  Her- 
mitage, situated  between  Vesuvius  and  the  Som- 
ma,  and  the  highest  habitation  on  the  mountain. 
A  great  number  of  men  were  assembled  within, 
and  guides,  lazzaroni,  servants,  and  soldiers,  were 
lounging  round.  I  alighted,  for  I  was  benumbed 
and  tired,  but  did  not  like  to  venture  among  those 
people,  and  it  was  proposed  that  we  should  wait 
for  the  rest  of  our  party  a  little  further  on.  We 
accordingly  left  our  donkeys  and  walked  forward 
upon  a  kind  of  higli  ridge,  which  serves  to  fortify 
the  Hermitage  and  its  environs  against  the  lava. 
From  this  path,  as  we  slowly  ascended,  we  had  a 


218 


glorious  view  of  the  eruption  ;  and  the  whole 
Bcene  around  us,  in  its  romantic  interest  and  terri- 
ble magnificence,  mocked  all  power  of  description 
There  were,  at  this  time,  five  distinct  toiTents  of 
lava  rolling  down  like  streams  of  molten  lead ;  one 
of  which  extended  above  two  miles  below  us,  and 
was  flowmg  towards  Portici.  The  showers  of  red- 
hot  stones  flew  up  like  thousands  of  sky-rockets: 
many  of  them  being  shot  up  perpendicularly,  fell 
back  into  the  crater,  others  falling  on  the  outside, 
bounded  down  the  side  of  the  mountain  with  a 
velocity  which  would  have  distanced  a  horse  at  full 
speed  :  these  stones  were  of  every  size,  from  two 
to  ten  or  twelve  feet  in  diameter. 

My  ears  were  by  this  time  wearied  and  stunned 
by  the  unceasing  roaring  and  hissing  of  the  flames, 
wlille  my  eyes  were  dazzled  by  the  glare  of  the 
red,  fierce  light :  now  and  then  I  turned  them  for 
relief  to  other  features  of  the  picture,  to  the  black 
shadowj'  masses  of  the  landscape  stretched  beneath 
us,  and  speckled  with  shining  lights,  which  showed 
how  many  were  up  and  watching  that  night ;  and 
often  to  the  calm  vaulted  sky  above  our  heads, 
where  thousands  of  stars,  (not  twinkling  as  through 
our  hazy  or  frosty  atmosphere,  but  shining  out  of 
"  heaven's  profoundest  azure,"  with  that  soft  steady 
brilliance  peculiar  to  a  highly  rarefied  medium,) 
looked  down  upon  this  frightful  turmoil  in  all 
their  bright  and  placid  loveliness.  Nor  should  1 
forget  one  other  feature  of  a  scene,  on   which  I 


21& 


looked  Tvi.li  a  painter's  eye.  Great  numbers  of  the 
Austrian  forces,  now  o.-cupying  Naples,  were  on 
the  mountains,  assembled  in  groups,  some  standing, 
some  sitting,  some  stretched  on  the  ground  and 
wrapped  in  their  cloaks,  in  various  attitudes  of 
amazement  and  admiration :  and  as  the  shadowy 
glare  fell  on  their  tall  martial  figures  and  glittering 
accoutrements,  I  thought  I  had  never  beheld  any 
thing  so  wildly  picturesque. 

The  remainder  of  our  partj'  not  yet  appearing, 
we  sent  back  for  our  asses  and  guides,  and  deter- 
mined to  proceed.  About  half  a  mile  beyond  our 
companions  came  up,  and  here  a  division  took 
place  ;  some  agreeing  to  go  forward,  the  rest  turn- 
ing back  to  wait  at  the  Hermitage.  I  was  of 
course  one  of  those  who  advanced.  ]\Iy  spirits 
were  again  raised,  and  the  grand  object  of  all  this 
daring  and  anxiety,  was  to  approach  near  enough 
to  a  stream  of  lava  to  have  some  idea  of  its  con- 
sistency, and  the  manner  in  which  it  flowed,  or 
trickled  down.  The  difficulties  of  our  road  now 
increased,  "  if  road  that  might  be  called,  which 
road  was  none,"  but  black  loose  ashes,  and  masses 
of  scoria  and  lava  heaped  in  ridges,  or  broken  into 
hollows  in  a  manner  not  to  be  described.  Even 
my  animal,  though  used  to  the  path,  felt  his  footing 
at  every  step,  and  if  the  torch  was  by  accident 
extinguished,  he  stopped,  and  nothing  could  make 
him  move.  My  guide,  Andrea,  was  very  vigilant 
aad  attentive,  and,  in  a  few  words  of  Italian  he 


220 


knew,  encouraged  me,  and  assured  me  there  was 
no  danger.  1  had,  however,  no  fear :  in  fact,  1 
was  infinitely  too  much  interested  to  have  been 
alive  to  danger,  had  it  really  existed.  Salvador, 
well  known  to  all  who  have  visited  Mount  Vesu- 
vius, had  been  engaged  by  Mr.  R.  as  his  guide. 
He  is  the  principal  cicerone  on  the  mountain.  It 
is  his  bvisiness  to  despatch  to  the  king  every  three 
hours,  a  regular  account  of  the  height  of  the  erup- 
tion, the  progress,  extent,  and  direction  of  the  lava, 
and,  in  short,  the  most  minute  particulars.  He 
also  corresponds,  as  he  assured  me,  with  Sir  Hum- 
phry Davy ;  *  and  is  employed  to  inform  him  of 
every  interesting  phenomenon  which  takes  place 
on  the  mountain.  This  man  has  resided  at  the 
foot  of  it,  and  been  principal  guide  for  thirty-three 
years,  and  knows  every  inch  of  its  territory. 

As  the  lava  had  overflowed  the  usual  footpath 
leading  to  that  conical  eminence  which  forms  the 
summit  of  the  mountain  and  the  exterior  of  the 
crater,  we  were  obliged  to  alight  from  our  saga- 
cious steeds  ;  and,  trusting  to  our  feet,  walked  over 
the  ashes  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The  path, 
or  the  ground  rather,  for  there  was  no  pathj  was 
now  dangerous  to  the  inexperienced  foot;  and 
Salvador  gallantly  took  me  under  his  peculiar  care. 

*  Was  the  letter  addressed  '  AUa  Sua  Excellenza  Serom/ndevi,'' 
which  caused  so  much  perplexity  at  the  Post-Office  and  British 
Museum,  and  exercised  ihe  acumen  of  a  minister  of  state,  from 
Salvador  to  hi^  illustrious  correspondent? 


221 


He  led  mc  on  before  tlie  rest,  and  I  followed  with 
confidence.  Our  object  was  to  reach  the  edge  of 
a  stream  of  lava,  formed  of  two  currenis  united  in 
a  point.  It  was  glowing  with  an  intense  heat;  and 
flowing,  not  with  such  rapidity  a?  to  alarm  us,  but 
rather  slowly,  and  by  fits  and  starts.  Trickling,  ia 
short,  is  the  word  which  expresses  its  motion  :  if  one 
can  fancy  it  applied  to  any  object  on  so  large  a  scale. 
At  this  time  the  eruption  was  at  its  extreme 
height.  The  column  of  fire  was  from  a  quarter  to 
a  third  of  a  mile  high  ;  and  the  stones  were  thrown 
up  to  the  height  of  a  mile  and  a  quarter.  I  passed 
close  to  a  rock  about  four  feet  in  diameter,  which 
had  rolled  down  some  time  before  :  it  was  still  red- 
hot,  and  I  stopped  to  warm  my  hands  at  it.  At  a 
short  distance  from  it  lay  another  stone  or  rock, 
also  red-hot,  but  six  times  the  size.  I  walked  on 
first  with  Salvador,  till  we  were  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  lava — at  this  moment  a  prodigious  stone, 
followed  by  two  or  thi-ee  smaller  ones,  came  rolling 
down  upon  us  with  terrific  velocity.  The  gentle- 
men and  guides  all  ran  ;  my  first  impulse  was  to 
run  too ;  but  Salvador  called  to  me  to  stop  and 
see  what  direction  the  stone  would  take.  I  saw 
the  reason  of  this  advice,  and  stopped.  In  less 
than  a  second  he  seized  my  arm  and  hurried  me 
back  five  or  six  yards.  I  heard  the  whizzing 
sound  of  the  stone  as  it  rushed  down  behind  me. 
A  little  farther  on  it  met  with  an  impediment, 
ftijaiust  which  it  bolted  with  such  force,  that  it  fiew 


222  XAPLES. 

up  into  the  air  to  a  great  height,  and  fell  in  a 
shower  of  red-hot  fragments.  All  this  passed  in  a 
moment :  I  have  shuddered  since  when  I  have 
thought  of  that  moment  ;  but  at  the  time,  I  saw 
the  danger  without  the  slightest  sensation  of  terror. 
I  remember  the  ridiculous  figures  of  the  men,  as 
they  scrambled  over  the  ridges  of  scoria ;  and  was 
struck  by  Salvador's  exclamation,  who  shouted  to 
them,  in  a  tone  which  would  have  become  Cassai 
himself, — '•  Che  tema  ! — Sono  Salvador  !  "  * 

We  did  not  attempt  to  turn  back  again,  which 
I  should  have  done  without  any  hesitation  if  any 
one  had  proposed  it.  To  have  come  thus  far,  and 
to  be  so  near  the  object  I  had  in  view,  and  then 
to  run  away  at  the  first  alarm !  it  was  a  little  pro- 
voking. The  road  was  extremely  dangerous  in 
the  descent.  I  was  obliged  to  walk  part  of  the 
■way,  as  the  guides  advised,  and  but  for  Salvador, 
and  the  interesting  information  he  gave  me  from 
time  to  time,  I  think  I  should  have  been  over- 
powered. He  amused  and  fixed  my  attention,  by 
his  intelligent  conversation,  his  assiduity,  and  solic- 
itude for  my  comfort,  and  the  naivete  and  self^ 
complacency  with  which  his  information  was  con- 
veyed. He  told  me  he  had  visited  Mount  ^tna 
(en  amateur)  during  the  last  great  eruption  of 
that  mountain,  and  acknowledged  with  laudable 
I'andor  that  Vesuvius,  in  its  grandest  moments, 
was  a  mere  bonfire  in  comparison  :  the  whole  cone 
*  Quid  times  ?  &c. 


NAPI,ES.  225 

of  Vesuvius,  he  said,  was  not  larger  than  some  of 
the  masses  of  rock  ho  had  seen  whirled  from  the 
crater  of  Mount  ^Etna,  and  rolling  down  its  sides. 
He  frequently  made  me  stop  and  look  back  :  and 
here  I  should  observe  that  our  guides  seemed  as 
proud  of  the  performances  of  the  mountain,  and 
as  anxious  to  show  it  off  to  the  best  advantage,  as 
the  keeper  of  a  menagerie  is  of  the  tricks  of  his 
dancing  bear,  or  the  proprietor  of  "  Solomon  in 
all  his  glory "  of  his  raree-show.  Their  enthu- 
siastic shouts  and  exclamations  would  have  kept 
up  my  interest  had  it  flagged.  "  O  veda,  Signora  ! 
O  bella  !  O  stupenda  !  "  The  last  great  burst  of 
fire  was  accom])anied  by  a  fresh  overflow  of  lava, 
which  issued  from  the  crater,  on  the  west  side,  in 
two  broad  streams,  and  united  a  few  hundred  feet 
below,  taking  the  direction  of  Torre  del  Greco. 
After  this  explosion  the  eruption  subsided,  and  the 
mountain  seemed  to  repose  :  now  and  then  show- 
ers of  stones  flew  up,  but  to  no  gi-eat  height,  and 
unaccompanied  by  any  vivid  fl:imes.  There  was 
a  dull  red  light  over  the  mouth  of  the  crater, 
round  which  the  smoke  rolled  in  dense  tumultuous 
volumes,  and  then  blew  off  towards  the  southwest. 
After  a  slow  and  difficult  descent,  we  reached 
the  Hermitage.  I  was  so  exhausted  that  I  was 
glad  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes.  My  good  friend 
Salvador  brought  me  a  glass  of  Lachrt/ma  Cltristi 
and  the  leg  of  a  chicken  ;  and  with  recruited 
dpirits  we  mounted  our  animals  and  again  started. 


224 


The  descent  was  infinitely  more  slow  and  diffi- 
cult than  i\)2  ascent,  and  much  more  trying  to  the 
nerves.  I  had  not  Salvador  at  my  side,  nor  the 
mountain  before  me,  to  beguile  me  from  my  fears ; 
at  length  I  prevailed  on  one  of  our  attendants,  a 
fine  tall  figure  of  a  man,  to  sing  to  me  ;  and  though 
he  had  been  up  the  moun  am  six  times  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  he  sang  delightfully  and  with 
great  spirit  and  expi-esslon,  as  he  strlded  along 
with  his  hand  upon  my  bridle,  accompanied  by  a 
magnificent  rumbling  bass  from  the  mountain, 
which  every  now  and  then  drowned  the  melody 
of  his  voice,  and  made  me  start.  It  was  past  three 
when  we  reached  Resina,  and  nearly  five  when  we 
got  home :  yet  I  rose  this  morning  at  my  usual 
hour,  and  do  not  feel  much  fatigued.  About 
twelve  to-day  I  saw  Mount  Vesuvius,  looking  as 
quiet  and  placid  as  the  first  time  I  viewed  it. 
There  was  little  smoke,  and  neither  the  glowing 
lava  nor  the  flames  were  visible  in  the  glare  of  the 
sunshine.  The  atmosphere  was  perfectly  clear, 
and  as  I  gazed,  almost  misdoubting  my  senses,  I 
could  scarcely  believe  in  the  reality  of  the  tremen- 
dous scene  I  had  witnessed  but  a  few  hours  be- 
fore. 

26. — The  eruption  burst  forth  again  to-day,  and 
is  exceedingly  grand ;  though  not  equal  to  what  it 
was  on  Sunday  night.  The  smoke  rises  from  the 
crater  in  dense  black  masses,  and  the  wind  having 
veered  a  few  points  to  the  southward,  it  Is  now 


NAPLKS.  225 

driven  in  the  direction  of  Naples.  At  the  moment 
I  write  this,  the  skies  are  obscured  by  roiling 
vapors,  and  the  sun,  "which  is  now  setting  just  op- 
posite to  Vesuvius,  shines,  as  I  have  seen  him 
through  a  London  mist,  red,  and  shorn  of  his 
beams.  The  sea  is  angry  and  discolored ;  the 
day  most  oppressively  sultry,  and  the  atmosphere 
thick,  sulphureous,  and  loaded  with  an  almost  im- 
palpable dust,  which  falls  on  the  paper  as  I  write. 
March  4. — We  have  had  delicious  weather  al- 
most ever  since  we  arrived  at  Naples,  but  these 
last  three  days  have  been  perfectly  heavenly.  I 
never  saw  or  felt  any  thing  like  the  enchantment 
of  the  earth,  air,  and  skies.  The  mountain  lias 
been  perfectly  still,  the  atmosphere  without  a  sin- 
gle cloud,  the  fresh  verdure  bursting  forth  all 
around  us,  and  every  breeze  visits  the  senses,  as  if 
laden  with  a  renovating  spirit  of  life,  and  wafted 
from  Elysium.  \Vhoever  would  truly  enjoy  nature, 
should  see  her  in  this  delicious  land  :  "  Od  la  plus 
douce  nuit  succede  au  plus  beau  jour ; "  for  here 
she  seems  to  keep  holiday  all  the  year  round.  To 
stand  upon  my  balcony,  looking  out  upon  the  sun- 
shine, and  the  glorious  bay  ;  the  blue  sea,  and  the 
pure  skies — and  to  feel  that  indefinite  sensation  of 
excitement,  that  super/lu  de  vie,  quickening  every 
pulse  and  thrilling  through  every  nerve,  is  a  pleas- 
ure peculiar  to  this  climate,  where  the  mere  con- 
sciousness of  existence  is  happiness  enough.  Then 
evening  comes  on,  lighted  by  a  moon  and  starry 
15 


226 


heavens,  whose  softness,  richness,  and  splendor 
are  not  to  be  conceived  by  those  who  have  lived 
always  in  the  vapory  atmosphere  of  England — • 
dear  England !  I  love,  like  an  Englishwoman,  its 
fireside  enjoyments,  and  homefelt  delights:  an 
English  drawing-room  with  all  its  luxurious  com- 
forts— carpets  and  hearth-rugs,  curtains  let  down, 
sofas  wheeled  round,  and  a  group  of  family  facoa 
round  a  blazing  fire,  is  a  delightful  picture ;  but 
for  the  languid  frame,  and  the  sick  heart,  give  me 
this  pure  elastic  air  "  redolent  of  spring ; "  this 
reviving  sunshine  and  all  the  witchery  of  these 
deep  blue  skies ! — 

Numbers  of  people  set  oflT  post-haste  from  Rome 
to  see  the  eruption  of  Mount  Vesuvius,  and  arrived 
here  Wednesday  and  Thursday ;  just  time  enough 
to  be  too  late.  Among  them  our  Roman  friend 
Frattino,  who  has  afforded  me  more  amusement 
than  all  our  other  acquaintance  together,  and  de- 
serves a  niche  in  my  gallery  of  characters. 

Frattino  is  a  young  Englishman,  who,  if  he  were 
in  England,  would  probably  be  pursuing  his  studies 
at  Eton  or  Oxford,  for  he  is  scarce  past  the  age  of 
boyhood  ;  but  ha\nng  been  abroad  since  he  was 
twelve  years  old,  and  early  plunged  into  active 
and  dissipated  life,  he  is  an  accomplished  man  of 
fashion,  and  of  the  world,  with  as  many  airs  and 
caprices  as  a  spoiled  child.  He  is  by  far  the  most 
heautiful  creature  of  his  sex  I  ever  saw ;  so  like  the 


227 


Aiitinous,  that  at  Rome  he  went  by  that  name. 
Tlie  exquisite  regularity  of  his  features,  the  grace- 
ful air  of  his  head,  his  antique  curls,  the  fiiultless 
proportions  of  his  elegant  figure,  make  him  a  thing 
to  be  gazed  on,  as  one  looks  at  a  statue.  Then  he 
possesses  talents,  wit,  taste,  and  information  :  the 
most  polished  and  captivating  manners,  where  he 
wishes  to  attract, — high  honor  and  generosity, 
where  women  are  not  concerned, — and  all  the  ad- 
vantages attending  on  rank  and  wealth  ;  but  under 
this  i'ascinating  exterior,  I  suspect  our  Frattino  to 
be  a  very  worthless,  as  well  as  a  very  unhappy 
being.  While  he  pleases,  he  repels  me.  There  is 
a  want  of  heart  about  him,  a  want  of  fixed  princi- 
ples— a  degree  of  profligacy,  of  selfishness,  of  fickle- 
ness, caprice,  and  ill-temper,  and  an  excess  of 
vanity,  which  all  his  courtly  address  and  savoir 
/aire  cannot  hide.  What  would  be  insufferable  in 
another,  is  in  him  bearable,  and  even  interesting 
and  amusing :  such  is  the  charm  of  manner.  But 
all  this  cannot  last ;  and  I  should  not  be  sur2:)riscd 
to  see  Frattino,  a  few  years  hence,  emerge  from 
his  foreign  frippery,  throw  aside  his  libertine  follj-, 
assume  his  seat  in  the  senate,  and  his  rank  in  Brit- 
ish society  ;  and  be  the  very  character  he  now 
affects  to  despise  and  ridicule — "  a  true-bred  Eng- 
lishman, who  rides  a  thorough-bred  horse." 

Our   excursion   to   Pompeii   yesterday  was  "  3 
pu;-nic   party  of  pleasure,"  a  I'Anglaiae.     Now  a 


S28  NAPLES. 

party  of  pleasure  is  proverbially  a  lore ;  and  cm' 
expedition  was  in  the  beginning  so  unpromising, 
so  mismanaged — our  party  so  numerous,  and  com- 
posed of  such  a  heterogeneous  mixture  of  opposite 
tempers,  tastes,  and  characters,  that  I  was  in  pain 
for  the  result.  The  day,  however,  turned  out 
more  pleasant  than  I  expected :  exterior  polish 
supplied  the  want  of  something  better,  and  our 
excursion  had  its  pleasures,  though  they  were  not 
such  as  I  should  have  sought  at  Pompeii.  I  felt 
myself  a  simple  unit  among  many,  and  found  it 
easier  to  syn.pathize  with  others,  than  to  make  a 
dozen  others  sympathize  with  me. 

We  were  twelve  in  number,  distributed  in  three 
light  barouches,  and  reached  Pompeii  in  about 
two  hours  and  a  half — ])issing  by  the  foot  of  Vesu- 
vius, through  Portici,  Torre  del  Greco,  and  I'An- 
nonziata.  The  streams  of  lava,  which  overwhelmed 
Torre  del  Greco  in  1 794,  are  still  black  and  barren  ; 
but  the  town  itself  is  rising  from  its  ruins  ;  and  the 
very  lava  which  destroyed  it  serves  as  the  material 
to  rebuild  it. 

We  entered  Pompeii  by  the  street  of  the  tombs  : 
near  them  are  the  semicircular  seats,  so  admirably 
adapted  for  conversation,  that  I  wonder  we  have 
not  sofas  on  a  similar  plan,  and  similar  scale.  I 
need  not  dwell  on  particulars,  which  are  to  be 
found  in  every  book  of  travels  :  on  the  whole,  my 
expectations  were  surpassed,  though  my  curiosity 
was  not  half  gratified. 


229 


The  most  interesting  thing  I  saw — in  fact  the 
only  thing,  for  which  paintings  and  descriptions 
had  not  previously  prepared  me,  was  a  building 
which  has  been  excavated  within  the  last  fortnight; 
it  is  only  partly  laid  open,  and  laborers  are  now 
at  work  upon  it.  Antiquarians  have  not  yet  pro- 
nounced on  its  name  and  design ;  but  I  should 
imagine  it  to  be  some  public  edifice,  perhaps 
dedicated  to  religious  purposes.  The  paintings  on 
the  walls  are  the  finest  which  have  yet  been  dis- 
covered :  they  are  exquisitely  and  tastefully  de- 
signed; and  though  executed  merely  for  effect, 
that  effect  is  beautiful.  I  remarked  one  female 
figure  in  the  act  of  entering  a  half-open  door  :  she 
is  represented  with  pencils  and  a  palette  of  colors 
in  her  hand,  similar  to  those  which  artists  now  use  : 
another  very  graceful  female  holds  a  lyre  of  pecu- 
liar construction.  These,  I  presume,  were  two  of 
the  muses :  the  rest  remained  hidden.  There 
were  two  small  panels  occupied  by  sea-pieces, 
with  galleys  ;  and  two  charming  landscapes,  so  well 
colored,  and  drawn  with  such  knowledge  of  per- 
spective and  effect,  that,  if  we  may  form  a  com- 
parative idea  of  the  best  pictures  from  these  speci- 
mens of  taste  and  skill  in  mere  house-painting,  the 
ancients  must  have  excelled  us  as  much  in  painting 
as  in  sculpture.  I  remarked  on  the  wall  of  an 
entrance  or  corridor,  a  dog  starting  at  a  wreathed 
and  crested  snake,  vividly  colored,  and  full  of 
spirit   and   expression.     AVhile   1  lingered  here  a 


230 


little  behind  the  rest,  and  most  relueuint  to  depart, 
a  ragged  lazzarone  boy  came  up  to  me,  and  seizing 
my  dress,  pointed  to  a  corner,  and  made  signs  that 
he  had  something  to  show  me.  I  followed  him  to 
a  spot  where  a  quantity  of  dust  and  ashes  was 
piled  against  a  wall.  He  began  to  scratch  away 
this  heap  of  dirt  with  hands  and  nails,  much  after 
the  manner  of  an  ape,  every  now  and  then  looking  up 
in  my  face  and  grinning.  The  impediment  being 
cleared  away,  there  appeared  on  the  wall  behind, 
a  most  beautiful  aerial  figure  with  floating  drapery, 
representing  either  Fame  or  Victory  :  but  before 
I  had  time  to  examine  it,  the  little  rogufe  flung  the 
earth  up  again  so  as  to  conceal  it  completely,  then 
pointing  significantly  at  the  other  workmen,  he 
nodded,  shrugged,  gesticulated,  and  held  out  both 
his  paws  for  a  recompense,  which  I  gave  him  will- 
ingly ;  at  the  same  time  laughing  and  shaking  my 
head  to  show  I  understood  his  knavery.  I  re- 
warded him  apparently  beyond  his  hopes,  for  he 
followed  me  down  the  street,  bowing,  grinning,  and 
cutting  capers  like  a  young  savage. 

The  streets  of  Pompeii  are  narrow,  the  houses 
are  very  small,  and  the  rooms,  though  often  deco- 
rated with  exquisite  taste,  are  constructed  without 
any  regard  to  what  ive  should  term  comfort  and 
convenience  ;  they  are  dark,  confined,  and  seldom 
communicate  with  each  other,  but  have  a  general 
communication  with  a  portico,  running  round  a 
central  court.     This  court  is  in  general  beautifully 


231 


paved  with  mosaic,  having  a  fountain  or  basm  in 
the  middle,  and  possibly  answered  the  purpose  of 
a  drawing-room.  It  is  evident  that  the  ancient 
inhabitants  of  this  lovely  country,  lived  like  their 
descendants  mostly  in  the  open  air,  and  met  to- 
gether in  their  public  walks,  or  in  the  forums, 
and  theatres.  If  they  saw  company,  the  guests 
probably  assembled  under  the  porticos,  or  in  the 
court  round  the  fountain.  The  houses  seem  con- 
structed on  the  same  princij)Ie  as  birds  construct 
their  nests  ;  as  places  of  retreat  and  shelter,  rather 
than  of  assemblage  and  recreation  :  the  grand  ob- 
ject was  to  exclude  the  sunbeams  ;  and  this,  which 
gives  such  gloomy  and  chilling  ideas  in  our  northern 
climes,  must  here  have  been  delicious. 

Hurried  on  by  a  hungrj%  noisy,  merry  party,  we 
at  length  reached  the  Caserna,  (the  ancient  bar- 
racks, or,  as  Forsyth  will  have  it,  the  prsetorium.) 
The  central  court  of  this  building,  has  been  con- 
verted into  a  garden  :  and  here,  under  a  fl^eeping 
willow,  our  dinner-table  was  spread.  Wh«re  Eng- 
lishmen are,  there  will  be  good  cheer  if  possible  ; 
and  our  banquet  was  in  truth  most  luxurious.  Be- 
sides more  substantial  cates,  we  had  oysters  from 
Lake  Lucrine,  and  classically  excellent  they  were ; 
London  bottled  porter,  and  half  a  dozen  different 
kinds  of  wine.  Our  dinner  went  off  most  gayly, 
but  no  order  was  kept  afterwards  :  the  purpose  of 
our  expedition  seemed  to  be  forgotten  in  general 
rairth  :  many  witty  things  were  said  and  done,  and 


232  NAPLES. 

many  merry  ones,  and  not  a  few  silly  ones.  We 
visited  the  beautiful  public  walk  and  the  platform 
of  the  old  temple  of  Hercules ;  (I  call  it  old,  be- 
cause It  was  a  ruin  when  Pompeii  was  entire  :)  tho 
Temple  of  Isis,  the  Theatres,  the  Forum,  the  Basi- 
lica, the  Ampliitheatre,  which  is  in  a  perfect  state  of 
preservation,  and  more  elliptical  in  form  than  any 
of  those  I  have  yet  seen,  and  the  School  of  Elo- 
quence, where  K,  *  *  mounted  the  rostrum,  and  gave 
us  an  oration  extempore,  equally  pithy,  classical, 
and  comical.  About  sunset  we  got  into  the  car- 
riages, and  returned  to  Naples. 

Of  all  the  heavenly  days  we  have  had  since  we 
came  to  Naples,  this  has  been  the  most  heavenly; 
and  of  all  the  lovely  scenes  I  have  beheld  in  Italy, 
what  I  saw  to-day  has  most  enchanted  my  senses 
and  imagination.  The  view  from  the  eminence  on 
which  the  old  temple  stood,  and  which  was  an- 
ciently the  public  promenade,  was  splendidly  beau- 
tiful :  the  whole  landscape  was  at  one  time  over- 
flowed with  light  and  sunshine  ;  and  appeared  as 
If  seen  through  an  impalpable  but  dazzling  veil. 
Towards  evening  the  outlines  became  more  dis- 
tinct :  the  little  white  towns  perched  upon  the  hills, 
the  gentle  sea,  the  fairy  island  of  Rivegliano  with 
its  old  tower,  the  smoking  crater  of  Vesuvius,  the 
bold  forms  of  Mount  Lactarlus  and  Cape  Minerva, 
stood  out  full  and  clear  under  the  cloudless  sky : 
as  we  returned,  I  saw  the  sun  sink  behind  Capri, 
which  appeared  by  some  optical  illusion    like  a 


NAPLES.  233 

glorious  crimson  transparency  suspended  above  the 
horizon  :  the  sky,  the  earth,  the  sea,  were  flushed 
■with  the  richest  rose-oolor,  whii'h  gradually  soft- 
ened and  darkened  into  purple :  the  short  twilight 
faded  away,  and  the  full  moon,  rising  over  Ve- 
suvius, lighted  up  the  scenery  with  a  softer  radi- 
ance. 

Thus  ended  a  day  which  was  not  without  its 
pleasures ; — yet  had  I  planned  a  party  of  pleasure 
to  Pompeii,  methinks  I  could  have  managed  better. 
Par  exemple,  I  would  have  deferred  it  a  fortnight 
later,  or  till  the  vines  were  in  leaf;  I  would  have 
chosen  for  my  companions  two  or  at  most  three 
persons  whom  I  could  name,  whose  cultivated 
minds  and  happy  tempers  would  have  heightened 
their  own  enjoyment  and  mine.  After  spending  a 
few  hours  in  taking  a  general  view  of  the  whole 
city,  we  would  have  sat  down  on  the  platform  of 
the  old  Greek  Temple  which  conmiands  a  view 
of  the  mountains  and  the  bay ;  or,  if  the  heat  were 
too  powerful,  under  the  shade  of  the  hill  near  it. 
There  we  would  make  our  cheerful  and  elegant 
repast,  on  bread  and  fruits,  and  perhaps  a  bottle 
of  Malvoisie  or  Champagne ;  the  rest  of  the  day 
should  be  devoted  to  a  minute  examination  of  the 
principal  objects  of  interest  and  curiosity:  we 
would  wait  till  the  shadows  of  evening  had  begun 
to  steal  over  the  scene,  purpling  the  mountains  and 
the  sea;  we  would  linger  there  to  enjoy  all  the 
eplendors   of   an   Italian   sunset;   and   then,  with 


234 


minds  softened  and  elevated  by  the  loveliness  and 
solemnity  of  the  scenes  around,  we  would  get  into 
our  carriage,  and  drive  back  to  Naples  beneath  the 
bright  full  moon ;  and,  by  the  way,  we  would  "  talk 
the  flowing  heart,"  and  make  our  recollections  of 
the  olden  time,  our  deep  impressions  of  the  past, 
heighten  our  enjoyment  of  the  present :  and  this 
would  be  indeed  a  day  of  pleasure,  of  such  pleasure 
as  I  think  I  am  capable  of  feeling — of  imparting — 
of  remembering  with  unmixed  delight.  Such  was 
not  yesterday. 

***** 
M  *  *  brought  with  him  this  evening  for  our 
amusement,  an  old  man,  a  native  of  Cento,  who 
gains  his  livelihood  by  a  curious  exhibition  of  his 
peculiar  talents.  He  is  blind,  and  plays  well  on 
the  violin :  he  can  recite  the  whole  of  the  Gerusa- 
lemme  from  beginning  to  end  without  missing  a 
word :  he  can  repeat  any  given  stanza  or  number 
of  stanzas  either  forwards  or  backwards :  he  can 
repeat  the  last  words  one  after  another  of  any 
stanza  or  stanzas :  if  you  give  him  the  first  word 
and  the  last,  he  can  name  immediately  the  paiticu- 
lar  line,  stanza,  and  book :  lastly,  he  can  tell 
instantly  the  exact  number  of  words  contained  in 
any  given  stanza.  This  exhibition  was  at  first 
amusing ;  but  as  I  soon  found  that  the  man's  head 
was  a  mere  machine,  that  he  was  destitute  of 
imagination,  and  that  far  from  feeling  the  beauty 
of  the  poet,  he  did  not  even  understand  the  mean- 


23» 


Ing  of  the  lines  he  thus  repeated  up  and  down, 
and  backwards  and  forwards,  it  ceased  to  interest 
me,  after  the  first  sensations  of  surprise  and 
curiosity  were  over. 

***** 

After  I  had  read  ItaUan  with  Signior  B  *  *  this 
evening,  he  amused  me  exceedingly  by  detailing 
to  me  the  plan  of  two  tragedies  he  is  now  writing 
or  about  to  write.  He  has  already  produced  one 
piece  on  the  story  of  Boadicea,  which  is  rather  a 
drama  than  a  regular  tragedy.  It  was  acted  here 
with  great  success.  After  giving  his  drama  due 
praise,  I  described  to  him  the  plan  and  characters 
of  Fletcher's  Bonduca ;  and  attempted  to  give 
him  in  Italian  some  idea  of  the  most  striking 
scenes  of  that  admirable  play :  he  was  alternately 
in  enchantment  and  despair,  and  I  thought  he 
would  have  torn  and  bitten  his  Boadicea  to  pieces, 
in  the  excess  of  his  vivacity. 

The  subject  of  one  of  his  tragedies  is  to  be  the 
Sicilian  Vespers.  Casimir  de  la  Vigne,  who  wi-ote 
Les  Vepres  Siciliennes,  which  obtained  some  years 
ago  such  amazing  popularity  at  Paris,  and  in  which 
the  national  vanity  of  the  French  is  flattered  at  the 
expense  of  the  Italians,  received  a  pension  from 
Louis  XVin.  B  *  *  spoke  with  contempt  of 
Casimir  de  la  Vigne's  tragedy,  and  witli  indignar 
tion  of  what  he  called  "  his  wilful  misrepiesentation 
of  history."  He  is  determined  to  give  the  reverse 
of  the  p'cture  :  the  French  will  be  represented  as 


236 


**  gente  crudeli — tiranni — oppression  seuza  fede '" 
Giovanni  di  Procida,  as  a  hero  and  patriot,  a 
Vantique,  and  the  Sicilians  as  rising  in  defence 
of  their  freedom  and  national  honor.  The  other 
tragedy  is  to  be  founded  on  the  history  of  the 
famous  Conijiura  dei  Baroni  in  the  reign  of  Ferdi- 
nand the  First,  as  related  by  Giannone.  The 
simple  facts  of  this  history  need  not  any  ornaments, 
borrowed  from  invention  or  poetry,  to  form  a  most 
interesting  tale,  and  furnish  ample  materials  for  a 
beautiful  tragedy,  in  incident,  characters,  and 
situations.  B  *  *  is  a  little  man,  dwarfish  and 
almost  deformed  in  person ;  but  flill  of  talent, 
spirit,  and  enthusiasm.  I  asked  him  why  he  did 
not  immediately  finish  these  tragedies,  which  ap- 
peared from  the  sketches  he  had  given  me,  so 
admirably  calculated  to  succeed.  He  replied,  that 
under  the  present  regime,  he  dared  not  write  up  to 
his  own  conceptions ;  and  if  he  curbed  his  genius, 
he  could  do  nothing ;  "  besides,"  added  he  mourn- 
fully, "  I  have  no  time ; — I  am  poor — poverissimo  ! 
I  must  work  hard  all  to-day  to  supply  the  wants 
of  to-morrow  :  I  am  already  survellle  by  the  police, 
as  a  known  liberal  and  literato."  "  Davvero" 
added  he  gayly,  "  I  would  soon  do,  or  say,  or  write 
something  to  attract  the  honor  of  their  more  par- 
ticular notice,  if  I  could  be  certain  they  would 
only  imprison  me  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  ensure 
me  during  that  time  a  blanket,  bread,  and  water, 
and  the  use  of  pen  and  ink  :  then  I  would  write  1 


237 


I  would  write  !  dalla  mattina  alia  sera  ;  and  thank 
my  jailers  as  my  best  friends  :  but  pens  are  poig- 
nards,  ink  is  poison  in  the  eyes  of  the  present 
government ;  imprisorment  for  life,  or  banishment, 
is  the  least  I  could  expect.  Now  the  mere  idea  of 
imprisonment  for  life  would  kill  me  in  a  week,  and 
banishment ! — Ah  lunfji  dalla  mia  hella  Patria, 
come  cantare  !  come  scrivere  !  come  vivere  !  moriro 
ic  anzi  nell'  momenlo  di  partire  !  " 

***** 

I  drove  to-day,  tete-k-tete  with  Laura,  to  the 
Lago  d'Agnano ;  about  a  mile  and  a  half  beyond 
Pausilippo.  This  lovely  fair  lake  is  not  more  than 
two  miles  in  circuit ;  and  embosomed  in  romantic 
woody  hills  :  innumerable  flocks  of  wild  fowl  were 
skinuning  over  its  surface,  and  gave  life  and  motion 
to  the  beautiful  but  quiet  landscape.  Wliile  we 
were  wandering  here,  enjoying  the  stillness  and 
solitude,  so  delightfully  contrasted  with  the  unceas- 
ing noise,  bustle,  and  crowd  of  the  city,  the  charm 
was  rudely  broken  by  the  appearance  of  the  king ; 
who,  attended  by  a  numerous  party  of  his  guards 
and  huntsmen,  had  been  wild  boar  shooting  in  the 
neighbouring  woods.  The  watel'-fowl,  scared  by  the 
report  of  fire-arms,  speedily  disappeared,  and  the 
guards  shouted  to  each  other,  and  galloped  round 
the  smooth  sloping  banks;  cutting  up  the  turf  with 
their  horses'  hoofs,  and  deforming  the  whole  scene 
with  uproar,  confusion,  and  affright.  Devoutly 
iid  I  wish  them  all  twenty  miles  off.     The  famous 


238 


Grotto  del  Cane  is  on  tlie  south  bank  of  the  lake,  a 
few  yards  from  the  edge  of  the  water.  We  saw 
the  torch,  when  held  in  the  vapor,  instantaneously 
extinguished.  The  ground  all  round  the  entrance 
of  the  grotto  is  hot  to  the  touch ;  and  when  I 
plunged  my  hand  into  the  deleterious  gas,  which 
rises  about  a  foot  or  a  foot  and  a  half  above  the 
surface  of  the  ground,  it  was  so  warm  I  was  glad  to 
withdraw  it.  The  disagreeable  old  woman  who 
showed  us  this  place,  brought  with  her  a  wretched 
dog  with  a  rope  round  his  neck,  bleared  eyes,  thin 
ribs,  and  altogether  of  a  most  pitiful  aspect.  She 
was  anxious  to  exhibit  the  common  but  cruel  ex- 
periment of  suspended  animation,  by  holding  his 
head  over  the  mephitic  vapor,  insisting  that  he  was 
accustomed  to  it,  and  even  hked  it :  of  course,  we 
would  not  suffer  it.  The  poor  animal  made  no 
resistance ;  only  drooped  his  head,  and  put  his  tail 
between  his  legs,  when  his  tyrant  attempted  to 
seize  him. 

Though  now  so  soft,  so  lovely,  and  so  tranquil, 
the  Lago  d'Agnano  owes  its  existence  to  some  ter- 
rible convulsion  of  the  elements.  The  basin  is  the 
crater  of  a  sunken  volcano,  which,  bursting  forth 
here,  swallowed  up  a  whole  city.  And  the  whole 
region  round,  bears  evident  marks  of  its  volcanic 
origin. 

^  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

This  morning  we  visited  several  churche3,  not 
one  of  them  worthy  of  a  remark.     The  architec- 


"39 


ture  IS  invariably  in  the  vilest  taste ;  and  the 
interior  decorations,  if  possible,  still  worse :  wnite- 
wasliing,  gilding,  and  gaudy  colors,  every  where 
prevail.  We  saw,  however,  some  good  pictures. 
At  the  San  Gennaro  are  the  famous  frescos  of 
Domenichino  and  Lanfranco :  the  church  itself  is 
hideous.  At  the  Girolomini  there  is  no  want  of 
magnificence  and  ornament ;  but  a  barbarous  mis- 
application of  both  as  usual.  The  church  of  the 
convent  of  Santa  Chiara  was  painted  in  li-esco  by 
Ghiotto :  it  is  now  white-washed  all  over.  The 
tomb  of  the  murdered  Queen  Joanna,  who  was 
buried  here,  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  objects 
in  Naples.  At  this  church,  which  I  first  visited 
during  the  merry  days  of  the  carnival,  I  saw  a 
large  figure  of  our  Saviour  suspended  on  the  cross, 
dressed  in  a  ciimson  domino,  and  blue  sash.  To 
what  a  pitch,  thought  T,  must  the  love  "of  white- 
washing and  masquerading  be  carried  in  this 
strange  city,  where  the  Deity  himself  is  burlesqued, 
and  bad  taste  is  carried  to  profanation  ! 

The  church  of  San  Severo  is  falling  to  ruins, 
owing  to  some  defect  in  the  architectui-e.  It  is 
only  remarkable  for  containing  three  celebrated 
statues.  The  man  enveloped  in  a  net,  and  the 
Pudicitk,  draped  from  head  to  foot,  pleased  me 
only  as  specunens  of  the  patience  and  ingenuity 
of  the  sculptor.  The  dead  Christ  covered  with  a 
veil,  by  Corradini,  has  a  merit  of  a  higher  class: 
it  is  most  painful  to  look  upon  ;  and  afi'ected  me  so 


240 


Btrongly,  that  I  was  obliged  to  leave  the  church, 
and  go  into  the  air. 

I  went  to-day  with  two  agreeable  and  intelhgent 
friends,  to  take  leave  of  the  Studio  and  the  Museum. 
I  have  often  resolved  not  to  make  my  Uttle  journal 
a  mere  catalogue  of  objects,  which  are  to  be  found 
in  any  pocket  guide,  and  bought  for  a  few  pence  ; 
but  I  cannot  resist  the  temjotation  of  making  a  few 
notes  of  admiration  and  commemoration,  for  my 
own  peculiar  use. 

The  Gallery  of  Painting  contains  few  pictures ; 
but  among  them  are  some  master-pieces.  The 
St.  John  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  (exquisite  as  it  is, 
considered  as  a  mere  painting,)  provoked  me.  I  am 
sick  of  his  eternal  simpering  face  :  the  aspect  is  that 
of  a  Ganymede  or  a  young  Bacchus  ;  and  if  instead 
of  Ecce  Agnux  Dei,  they  had  written  over  it,  Ecce 
Vinum  bonum,  all  would  have  been  in  character. 

How  I  coveted  the  beautiful  "  Caritk,"  the  Capo 
d'Opera  of  Schidone  ! — and  next  to  it,  Parniegiano's 
mistress — a  delicious  picture.  A  portrait  of  Colum- 
bus, said  to  be  by  the  same  master,  is  not  like  him, 
I  am  sure  ;  for  the  physiognomy  is  vacant  and  dis- 
agreeable. Domenichino's  large  picture  of  the 
Angel  shielding  Innocence  from  a  Demon,  pleases 
me,  as  all  his  pictures  do — but  not  perfectly :  the 
devil  in  the  corner,  with  his  fork,  and  hoofs,  and 
horus,  shocks  my  taste  as  a  ludicrous  and  vulgar 
idea,  far  removed  from  poetry  ;  but  the  figure  of 
the  angel  sti-etching  a  shield   over  the   infant,  ia 


NAPLES.  241 

charming.  There  are  also  two  fine  Claudes,  two 
Holy  Families,  by  Raffaelle,  in  his  sweetest  style ; 
and  one  by  Corregglo,  not  less  beautiful. 

The  Gallery  of  Sculpture  is  so  rich  in  chef- 
d'oeuvres,  that  to  particularize  would  be  a  vain 
a':tempt.  Passing  over  those  which  every  one  knows 
by  heart,  the  statue  of  Aristides  struck  me  most. 
It  was  found  in  Herculaneum ;  and  is  marked  with 
ferruginous  stains,  as  if  by  the  action  of  fire  or  the 
burning  lava ;  but  it  is  otherwise  uninjured,  and 
the  grave,  yet  graceful  simplicity  of  the  figure  and 
attitude,  and  the  extreme  elegance  of  the  drapery, 
Are  truly  Grecian.  It  is  the  union  of  power  with, 
repose — of  perfect  grace  with  perfect  simplicity, 
which  distinguishes  the  ancient  from  the  modern 
style  of  sculpture.  The  sitting  Agrippina,  for 
example,  furnished  Canova  with  the  model  for  his 
statue  of  Madame  Letitia ;  the  two  statues  are, 
in  point  of  fact,  nearly  the  same,  except  that  Ca- 
nova has  turned  Madame  Letitia's  head  a  little 
on  one  side  ;  and  by  this  single  and  trifling  altera- 
tion has  destroyed  that  quiet  and  beautiful  sim- 
plicity which  distinguishes  the  original,  and  given 
his  statue  at  once  a  modern  air. 

The  Flora  Farnese  is  badly  placed,  in  a  space 
too  confined  for  its  size,  and  too  near  the  eye :  so 
that  the  exquisite  harmony  and  deHcacy  of  the 
figure  are  partly  lost  in  its  colossal  proportions  :  it 
should  be  placed  at  the  end  of  a  long  gallery  or  vista. 

There  is  here  a  statue  of  Nero  when  he  was 
16 


242  NAPLES. 

ten  years  old  ;  from  which  It  would  seem  that  he 
was  not  by  nature  the  monster  he  afterwards 
became.  The  features  are  beautiful ;  and  the 
expression  all  candor  and  sweetness. 

One  statue  struck  me  exceedingly — not  by  the 
choice  of  the  subject,  nor  the  beauty  of  the  work- 
manship, but  from  its  wonderful  force  of  expres- 
sion. It  is  a  dying  gladiator ;  but  very  difierent 
from  the  gladiator  of  the  capitol.  The  latter 
declines  gradually,  and  sickens  into  death;  but 
memory  and  feeling  are  not  yet  extinct ;  and  what 
thoughts  may  pass  through  that  brain  while  life 
.  is  thus  languishing  away ;  what  emotions  may  yet 
dwell  upon  the  last  beatings  of  that  heart!  it  is 
the  sentiment  which  gives  such  profound  pathos  to 
that  matchless  statue  ;  but  the  gladiator  .  of  the 
Studii  has  only  physical  expression  :  it  is  sudden 
death  in  all  its  horrors  :  the  figure  is  still  erect, 
though  the  mortal  blow  has  been  given  :  the  sword 
has  dropt  from  the  powerless  hand :  the  limbs  are 
stiffening  in  death ;  the  eyes  are  glazed  ;  the 
features  fixed  in  an  expression  of  mortal  agony ; 
and  in  another  moment  you  expect  the  figure  to 
fall  at  your  feet. 

The  Venus,  the  Hercules,  the  Atlas,  the  An- 
tinous,  (not  equal  to  that  in  the  capitol,)  the  Gany- 
mede, the  Apollo,  the  equestrian  statues  of  the 
two  Balbi,  &c.  are  all  familiar  to  my  imagination, 
from  the  numerous  copies  and  models  I  have  seen : 
but   the  most  interesting  department  of  the  Mil- 


243 


seum  is  the  collection  of  antiques  from  Hercu- 
laneum  and  Pompeii,  which  have  lately  been 
removed  hither  fi-om  Portiei.  One  room  contains 
specimens  of  cooking  utensils,  portable  kitchens, 
tripods,  instruments  of  sacrifice,  small  bronze 
Lares  and  Penates,  urns,  lamps,  and  candelabras 
of  the  most  elegant  forms,  and  the  most  exquisite 
workmanship.  Another  room  contains  specimens 
of  ancient  armor,  children's  toys,  &c.  I  remarked 
here  a  helmet  which  I  imagine  formed  part  of  a 
trophy ;  or  at  least  was  intended  for  ornament 
rather  than  use.  It  is  exceedingly  heavy ;  and 
on  it  is  represented,  in  the  most  exquisite  relievo, 
the  War  of  Troy.  Benvenuto  Cellini  himself 
never  produced  any  thing  eciual  to  the  chased 
work  on  this  helmet. 

In  a  third  room  is  the  paraphernalia  of  a  lady's 
toilet;  mirrors  of  dilierent  sizes,  fragments  of 
combs,  a  small  crystal  box  of  rouge,  &c.  Then 
follow  flutes  and  pipes,  all  carved  out  of  bone, 
surgical  instruments,  moulds  for  pastry,  sculptors' 
tools,  locks  and  keys,  bells,  &c. 

The  room  containing  the  antique  glass,  astonished 
me  more  than  any  thing  else.  I  knew  that  glass 
was  an  ancient  invention  ;  but  I  thought  that  its 
apphcation  to  domestic  purposes  was  of  modem 
date.  Here  I  found  window  panes,  taken  from  the 
Villa  of  Diomed  at  Pompeii ;  bottles  of  every  size 
and  fonn,  white  and  colored  ;  pitchers  and  vases ; 
oeck laces ;  imitations  of  gems,  &c. 


244  NAPLES. 

Tliere  is  a  little  jeu  d'esprit  of  Voltaire's  "La 
Toilette  de  Madame  de  Pompadour,"  in  which  he 
wittily  exalts  the  moderns  above  the  ancients,  and 
ridicules  their  ignorance  of  the  luxuries  and  com- 
forts of  life  :  but  Voltaire  had  not  seen  the  museum 
of  Portici.  We  can  add  few  distinct  articles  to  the 
list  of  comforts  and  luxuries  it  contains  ;  though  it 
must  be  confessed  that  we  have  improved  upon 
them,  and  varied  them  ad  infinilum.  In  those 
departments  of  the  mechanics  which  are  in  any 
way  connected  with  the  fine  arts,  the  ancients 
appear  to  have  attained  perfection.  To  them 
belongs  the  invention  of  all  that  embellishes  life, 
of  all  the  graceful  forms  of  imitative  art,  varied 
with  such  exquisite  taste,  such  boundless  fertility 
of  fancy,  that  nothing  is  left  to  us  but  to  refine 
upon  their  ideas,  and  copy  their  creations.  With 
all  our  new  invented  machines,  and  engines,  we 
can  do  little  more  than  what  the  ancients  pep- 
formed  without  them. 

I  ought  not  to  forget  one  room  containing  some 
objects,  more  curious  and  amusing  than  beautiful, 
principally  from  Pompeii,  such  as  loaves  of  bread, 
reduced  to  a  black  cinder,  figs  in  the  same  state, 
grain  of  diiferent  kinds,  colors  from  a  painter's 
room,  ear-rings  and  bracelets,  gems,  specimens  of 
mosaic,  &c.  &c. 

***** 

March  7. — Frattino  brought  me  to-day  the  last 
omnbers   of  the    Edinburgh   and    Quarterly    Re- 


NAPLES.  245 

views :  a  great  treat  so  far  from  home.  BotK 
contain  some  clever  essays :  among  them,  an 
article  on  prisons,  in  the  Edinburgh,  Interested  me 
most. 

Methlnks  these  two  Reviews  stalk  through  the 
literary  world,  like  the  two  giants  in  Pulci's  Mor- 
gante  Maggiore :  the  one  pounding,  slaying,  man- 
gling, despoiling  with  blind  fury,  Hke  the  heavy 
orthodox  club-armed  Morgante  ;  the  other,  like 
the  sneering,  witty,  half-pagan,  half-baptized  Mar- 
gutte,  slashing  and  cutting,  and  piercing  through 
thick  and  thin:  k  tort  et  a  travers.  Truly  the 
simile  is  more  Apropos  than  I  thought  when  it  first 
occurred  to  me. 

I  went  the  other  day  to  a  circulating  library 
and  reading-room  kept  here  by  a  little  cross  French 
woman,  and  asked  to  see  a  catalogue.  She  showed 
me,  first,  a  fist  of  all  the  books,  Italian,  French, 
and  English,  she  was  allowed  to  keep  and  sell :  it 
was  a  thin  pamphlet  of  about  one  hundred  pages. 
She  then  showed  me  the  catalogue  of  prohibited 
books,  which  was  at  least  as  thick  as  a  good-sized 
octavo.  The  book  to  which  I  wished  to  refer 
was  the  second  volume  of  Robertson's  Chai-les  the 
Fifth.  After  some  hesitation,  Madame  P  *  *  led 
me  into  a  back  room;  and  opening  a  sUding 
paael,  discovered  a  shelf  let  into  the  wall,  on 
which  were  arranged  a  number  of  forbidden  au- 
ihors,  chiefly  English  and  French.  I  was  not 
smprised   to   find  Rousseau   and  Voltaire  among 


246  NAPLES. 

them ;  but  am  still  at  a  loss  to  guess  what  Robertson 
has  done  or  written  to  entitle  him  to  a  place  in 
Buch  select  company. 

Sth. — Forsyth  might  well  say  that  Naples  has 
no  parallel  on  earth.  Viewed  from  the  sea  it 
appears  like  an  amphitheatre  of  palaces,  temples 
and  castles,  raised  one  above  another,  by  the 
■wand  of  a  necromancer :  viewed  within,  Naples 
gives  me  the  idea  of  a  vast  Bartholomew  fair. 
No  sti-eet  in  London  is  ever  so  crowded  as  I  have 
seen  the  streets  of  Naples  It  is  a  crowd  which 
has  no  pause  or  cessation  •  early  in  the  morning, 
late  at  night,  it  is  ever  the  same.  The  whole 
population  seems  poured  into  the  streets  and 
squares;  all  business  and  amusement  is  carried 
on  in  the  open  air :  all  those  minute  details  of 
domestic  life,  which,  in  England,  are  confined 
within  the  sacred  precincts  of  home,  are  here  dis- 
played to  pubUc  view.  Here  people  buy  and  sell, 
and  work,  wash,  wring,  brew,  bake,  fry,  dress,  eat, 
drink,  sleep,  &c.  &c.,  all  in  the  open  streets.  AVe 
see  every  hour  such  comical,  indescribable,  ap- 
palling sights ;  such  strange  figures,  such  wild 
physiognomies,  picturesque  dresses,  attitudes  and 
groups — and  eyes — no  !  I  never  saw  such  eyes 
before,  as  I  saw  to-da}',  half  languor  and  half  fire, 
in  the  head  of  a  ruffian  Lazzarone,  and  a  ragged 
Calabriau  beggar  girl.  They  would  have  emhrase 
half  London  or  Paris. 

I  know  not  whether  it  be  incipient  illness,  or  the 


247 


enervating  effects  of  tliis  soft  climate,  but  T  feel 
unusually  weak,  and  the  least  exertion  or  excite- 
ment is  not  only  disagreeable  but  painful.  While 
the  rest  were  at  Capo  di  IMonte,  I  stood  upon  my 
balcony  looking  out  upon  the  lovely  scene  before 
me,  with  a  kind  of  pensive  dreamy  rapture,  which 
if  not  quite  pleasure,  had  at  least  a  power  to 
banish  pain :  and  thus  hours  passed  away  insen- 
sibly— 

"  As  if  the  moving  time  had  been 

A  thing  as  steadfast  as  the  scene. 

On  which  we  gazed  ourselves  away."  * 

All  my  activity  of  mind,  all  my  faculties  of 
thought  and  feeling  and  suffering,  seemed  lost  and 
swallowed  up  in  an  indolent  delicious  reverie,  a 
sort  of  vague  and  languid  enjoyment,  the  true 
^^  dolce  far  niente"  of  this  enchanting  climate. 
I  stood  so  long  leaning  on  my  elbow  without 
mo^'ing,  that  my  arm  has  been  stiff  all  day  in 
consequence. 

"  How  I  wish,"  said  I  this  evening,  when  they 
drew  aside  the  curtain,  that  I  might  \dew  the 
sunset  from  my  sofa,  and  sky,  earth,  and  ocean, 
seemed  to  commingle  in  floods  of  glorious  light — 
"  how  I  wish  I  could  transport  those  skies  to 
England  ! "  Cruelle  !  exclaimed  an  Italian  behind 
me,  otez  nous  notre  beau  del,  tout  est  jjerda  pout 
notis  ! 

K:  *  *  *  * 

*  Wordsworth. 


248  VELLETRI. 


THE  LAST  EVENING  AT  NAPLES. 

Yes,  Laura !  draw  the  shade  aside 
And  let  me  gaze — while  yet  I  may, 

Upon  that  gently-heaving  tide, 
Upon  that  glorious  sun-lit  bay. 

Land  of  Eomance !  enchanting  shore ! 

Fair  scenes,  near  which  I  linger  yet ! 
Never  shall  I  behold  ye  more, 

Never  this  last — last  look  forget ! 

What  though  the  cloiids  that  o'er  me  lour 
Have  tinged  ye  with  a  mournful  hue. 

Deep  in  my  heart  I  felt  your  power, 
And  bless  ye,  while  I  sigh — Adieu ! 

Velletri,  March  13. 
It  is  now  a  week  since  I  opened  my  little  book. 
Ever  since  the  9th  I  have  been  seriously  ill ;  and 
yesterday  morning  I  left  Naples  still  low  and 
much  indisposed,  but  glad  of  a  change  which 
should  substitute  any  external  excitement,  how- 
ever painful,  to  that  unutterable  dying  away  of  the 
heart  and  paralysis  of  the  mind  which  I  have 
suffered  for  some  days  past.  When  we  turned 
into  the  Strada  Chiaja,  and  I  gave  a  last  glance  at 
the  magnificent  bay  and  the  shores  all  resplendent 
with  golden  light,  I  could  almost  have  exclaimed 
like  Eve,  "  must  I  then  leave  thee  Paradise  ! "  and 
dropped  a  few  natural  tears — tears  of  weakness, 
rather  than  of  grief;  for  what  do  I  leave  behind 
me  worthy  one  emotion  of  regret  ?  Even  at  Naples, 


VELLETRI.  249 

even  in'^Ms  all-lovely  land, "  fit  haunt  for  gods," 
has  it  not  been  with  me  as  it  has  been  elsewhere  ? 
as  long  as  the  excitement  of  change  and  novelty 
lasts,  my  heart  can  turn  from  itself  "  to  luxuriate 
with  indifferent  things  :  "  but  it  cannot  last  long  : 
and  when  it  is  over,  I  suffer,  I  am  ill :  the  past 
returns  with  tenfold  gloom ;  interposing  like  a 
dark  shade  between  me  and  every  object:  an  evil 
power  seems  to  reside  in  every  thing  I  see,  to  tor- 
ment me  with  painful  associations,  to  perplex  my 
faculties,  to  irritate  and  mock  me  with  the  percep- 
tion of  what  is  lost  to  me:  the  very  sunshine 
sickens  me,  and  I  am  forced  to  confess  myself 
weak  and  miserable  as  ever.  O  time  !  how  slowly 
you  move !  how  little  you  can  do  for  me  !  and 
how  bitter  is  that  sorrow  which  has  no  relief  to 
hope  but  from  time  alone  ! 

Last  night  we  reached  Mola  di  Gaeta,  which 
looked  even  more  beautiful  than  before,  in  the 
3yes  of  all  but  one,  whose  senses  were  blinded  and 
dulled  by  dejection,  lassitude,  and  sickness.  When 
I  felt  myself  passively  led  along  the  shore,  placed 
where  the  eye  might  range  at  freedom  over  the 
living  and  rejoicing  landscape — when  I  heard 
myself  repeating  mechanically  the  exclamations 
^f  others,  and  felt  no  ray  of  beauty,  no  sense  of 
pleasure  penetrate  to  my  heart — shall  I  own,  even 
to  myself,  the  nuxture  of  anguish  and  terror  with 
which  I  shrunk  back,  conscious  of  the  waste  within 
aae  ?     The   conviction   that  now  it  was  all  over. 


250  VELLETRI. 

that  the  lat,t  and  only  pleasures  hitherto  left  to  me 
had  jierlshed,  that  my  mind  Avas  contracted  by  the 
selfishness  of  despondency,  and  my  quick  spirit  of 
enjoyment  utterly  subdued  into  apathy,  gave  me 
for  a  moment  a  pang  sharper  than  if  a  keen  knife 
had  cut  me  to  the  quick ;  and  then  I  relapsed  into 
a  kind  of  torpid  languor  of  mind  and  frame  which 
I  thought  was  resignation,  and  as  such  indulged  it. 

From  my  bed  this  morning  I  stepped  out  upon 
my  balcony  just  as  the  sun  was  rising.  I  wished 
to  convince  myself  whether  the  beauty  on  which 
I  had  lately  looked  with  such  admiration  and 
delight,  had  indeed  lost  all  power  to  touch  my 
heart.  The  impression  made  upon  my  mind  at 
that  instant  I  canionly  compare  to  the  rolling  awa) 
of  a  palpable  and  suffocating  cloud:  every  tiling 
on  which  I  looked  had  the  freshness  and  bright- 
ness of  novelty:  a  glory  beyond  its  own  was  again 
diffused  over  the  enchanting  scene  from  the  stores 
of  my  own  imagination :  the  sea  breeze  which 
blew  against  my  temples  new-strung  every  nerve  ; 
and  I  left  Mola  with  a  heart  so  lightened  and  so 
grateful,  that  not  for  hours  afterwards,  not  till 
fatigue  and  hurry  had  again  wearied  down  my 
spirits,  did  that  impression  of  happy  thankfulnesa 
pass  away. 

I  am  sensible  I  owed  this  sudden  renovation  of 
health  solely  to  the  contemplation  of  Nature  ;  and 
a  true  feeling  for  all  the  "  maggior  pompa "  she 
has  poui'ed  forth  over  this  glorious  region.     The 


VELLETRI.  251 

ehores  of  Terracina,  the  azure  sea,  dancing  in  the 
breeze,  the  waves  rolling  to  our  feet,  the  sublime 
cliffs,  the  fleet  of  forty  sail  stretching  away  till  lost 
in  the  blaze  of  the  horizon,  the  Circcan  promon- 
tory, even  the  picturescjue  fishei'man,  whom  we 
saw  throwing  his  nets  from  an  insulated  rock  at 
some  distance  from  the  shore,  and  whom  a  very 
trifling  exertion  of  fancy  might  have  converted 
into  some  sea  divinity,  a  Glaucus,  or  a  Proteus, 
formed  altogether  a  picture  of  the  most  wonderful 
and  luxuriant  beauty.  In  England,  there  is  a  pe- 
culiar charm  in  the  soft  aerial  perspective,  which, 
even  In  the  broadest  glare  of  noonday,  blends  and 
masses  the  forms  of  the  distant  landscape ;  and  in 
that  mingling  of  colors  into  a  cool  neutral  grey 
tint  so  grateful  to  the  eye.  Hence  it  has  happened 
that  in  some  of  the  Italian  pictures  I  have  seen  in 
England,  I  have  often  been  struck  by  Avhat  ap- 
peared to  me  a  violence  in  the  coloring,  and  a 
sharp  decision  in  the  outline,  o'erstepping  the 
modesty  of  nature — that  is,  of  English  nature  :  but 
there  is  in  this  climate  a  prismatic  splendor  of  tint, 
a  glorious  all-embracing  light,  a  vivid  distinctness 
of  outline,  something  in  the  reality  more  gorgeous, 
glowing,  and  luxuriant,  than  poetry  could  dare  to 
exprtiss,  or  painting  imitate. 

"  Ah,  that  such  beauty,  varying  in  the  light 
Of  living  nature,  cannot  be  portrayed 
By  words,  nor  by  the  pencil's  silent  skill; 


852  VELLETRI. 

But  is  the  property  of  those  alone 
Who  have  beheld  it,  noted  it  with  care, 
And  in  their  minds  recorded  it  with  love.' '  * 

And  now  we  have  left  the  enchanting  soutl:  ; 
myrtle-hedges,  palm-trees,  orange-groves,  bright 
Mediterranean,  all  adieu  !  How,  under  other  cir- 
cumstances, should  I  regret  you,  with  what  reluc- 
tance should  I  leave  you,  thus  half  explored,  half 
enjoyed !  but  now  other  thoughts  engross  me,  the 
hard  struggle  to  overcome  myself,  or  at  least  to 
appear  the  thing  I  am  not. 


LINES. 

Quenched  is  our  light  of  youth ! 

And  fled  our  days  of  pleasure, 
When  all  was  hope  and  truth. 

And  tnisting — without  measure. 

Blindly  we  believed 

Words  of  fondness  spoken — 
Cruel  hearts  deceived, 

So  our  peace  was  broken ! 

What  can  charm  us  more  ? 

Life  hath  lost  its  sweetness ! 
Weary  lap;s  the  hour — 

"  Time  hath  lost  its  fleetness! 

*  Wordsworth. 


VELLETRI.  25S 

A8  the  buds  in  May 

Were  the  joys  we  cherished, 
Sweet^but  frail  as  they, 

Thus  they  passed  and  perished ! 

And  the  few  bright  hours 

Wintry  age  can  number. 
Sickly,  senseless  flowers. 

Lingering  thi-ough  December ! 

Man  has  done  what  he  can  to  deform  this  lovely 
region.  The  most  horrible  places  we  have  yet  met 
with  are  Itri  and  Fondi,  which  look  like  recesses 
of  depravity  and  dirt,  and  the  houses  more  Uke  the 
dens  and  kennels  of  wild  beasts,  than  the  habita- 
tions of  civilized  human  beings.  In  fact,  the  pop- 
ulace of  these  towns  consists  chiefly  of  the  families 
of  the  brigantl.  The  women  we  saw  here  were  bold 
coarse  Amazons ;  and  the  few  men  who  appeared 
had  a  slouching  gait,  and  looked  at  us  from  under 
their  eyebrows  with  an  expression  at  once  cunning 
and  fierce.  We  met  many  begging  friars — hor- 
rible specimens  of  their  species  :  altogether,  I  never 
beheld  such  a  desperate  set  of  canaille  as  appear  to 
have  congregated  in  these  two  wretched  towns. 

At  Mola,  I  remarked  several  beautiful  women. 
Their  headdress  is  singularly  graceful :  the  hair 
being  plaited  round  the  back  of  the  head,  and  there 
fastened  with  two  silver  pins,  much  in  the  manner 
of  some  of  the  ancient  statues.  The  costume  of  the 
peasantry  there,  and  all  the  way  to  Kome,  is  very 


254 


striking  and  picturesque.  I  remember  one  woman 
whom  I  saw  standing  at  her  door  spinning  with  her 
distaiF:  her  long  black  hair  floating  down  from  its 
confinement,  was  spread  over  her  shoulders ;  not 
hanging  in  a  dishevelled  and  slovenly  style,  but  in 
the  most  rich  and  luxuriant  tresses.  Her  attitude 
as  she  stood  suspentling  her  work  to  gaze  at  ?ne,  as 
I  gazed  at  her  with  open  admiration,  was  graceful 
and  dignified  ;  and  her  form  and  features  would 
have  been  a  model  for  a  Juno  or  a  Minerva.* 

Rome,  March  15. 

AVe  arrived  here  yesterda}'  morning  about  one, 
after  a  short  but  delightful  journey  from  Velletri. 
We  have  now  a  suite  of  apartments  in  the  Hotel 
d'Europe ;  and  our  accommodations  are  In  all  re- 
spects excellent,  almost  equal  to  Schneiderf's  at 
Florence. 

On  entering  Rome  through  the  gate  of  the  Lat- 
eran,  I  Avas  struck  by  the  emptiness  and  stillness 
of  the  streets,  contrasted  with  those  of  Naples ;  and 
still  more  by  the  architectural  grandeur  and  beauty 

•  Beyond  Fondi,  I  remarked  among  the  wild  myrtle-covered 
hills,  a  wreath  of  white  smoke  rise  as  if  from  under  ground,  and  I 
asked  the  postilion  what  it  meant?  lie  replied  with  an  expres- 
sive gesture,  "  Signora — i  briganti!  "  I  thought  this  was  a  mere 
trick  to  alarm  us;  but  it  was  truth:  within  twenty  hours  after 
we  had  passed  tlie  spot,  a  carriage  was  attacked ;  and  a  desperate 
struggle  took  place  between  the  banditti  and  the  sentinels,  who 
Bre  placed  at  regular  distances  along  the  road,  and  within  hear- 
ing of  each  other.  Several  men  were  killed,  but  the  robbers  at 
leni^h  were  obliged  to  fly. 


255 


which  every  where  met  the  eye.  This  is  as  it 
should  be :  the  merry,  noisy,  half-naked,  merry- 
andrew  set  of  ragamuffins  whic-h  crowd  the  streeta 
and  shores  of  Naples,  would  strangely  misbecome 
the  desolate  majesty  of  the  "  Eternal  City."  Though 
we  now  reside  in  the  most  fashionable  and  fre- 
quented part  of  Rome,  the  sound  of  carts  and  car- 
riages is  seldom  heard.  After  nine  in  the  evening 
a  profound  stillness  reigns ;  and  I  distinguish 
nothing  from  my  window  but  the  splashing  of  the 
Fountain  della  Barehetta. 

The  weather  is  lovely ;  we  were  obliged  to  close 
our  Venetian  blinds  against  the  heat  at  eight  this 
morning,  and  afterwards  we  drove  to  the  gardens 
of  the  Villa  Borghese,  where  we  wandered  about  in 
search  of  coolness  and  shade. 

0  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

26. — I  must  now  descend  to  the  common  occur- 
rences of  our  every-day  life. 

For  the  last  week  we  have  generally  spent  the 
whole  or  part  of  the  morning,  in  some  of  the  gal- 
leries of  art ;  and  the  afternoon  in  the  gardens  of 
the  neighbouring  villas.  Those  of  the  Villa  Medici 
have  their  vicinity  to  our  inn,  and  their  fine  air  to 
recommend  them.  From  the  Villa  Lanti,  and  the 
!RIonte  Mario,  we  have  a  splendid  view  of  the  whole 
city  and  Campagna  of  Rome.  The  Pope's  gardens 
on  the  Monte  Cavallo,  are  pleasant,  accessible,  and 
v/!ry  private :  the  gardens  of  the  Villa  Pamfili,  are 
enchanting ;  but  our  usual  haunt  is  the  garden  of 


256 


the  Villa  Borghese.  In  tliis  delightful  spot  we  find 
shade  and  privacy,  or  sunshine  and  society,  as  we 
may  feel  inclined.  To-day  it  was  intensely  hot ; 
and  we  found  the  cool  sequestered  walks  and  alleys 
of  cypress  and  ilex,  perfectly  delicious.  I  spread 
my  shawl  upon  a  green  bank  carpeted  with  violets, 
and  lounged  in  most  luxurious  indolence.  I  had  a 
book  with  me,  but  felt  no  inclination  to  read.  The 
soft  air,  the  trickling  and  murmuring  of  innumer- 
able fountains,  the  urns,  the  temples,  the  statues — 
the  localities  of  the  scene — all  dispose  the  mind  to 
a  kind  of  vague  but  delightful  reverie  to  which  we 
"  find  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost." 

In  these  gardens  we  fi'equently  meet  the  Princess 
Pauline ;  sometimes  alone,  but  oftener  surrounded 
by  a  cortege  of  gentlemen.  She  is  no  longer  the 
"  Venere  Vincitrice "  of  Canova ;  but  her  face, 
though  faded,  is  pretty  and  intelligent ;  and  she 
still  preserves  the  "  andar  celeste,"  and  all  the  dis- 
tinguished elegance  of  her  petite  and  gracefiil 
figure.  Of  the  stories  told  of  her,  I  suppose  one 
half  maij  be  ti'ue — and  that  half  is  quite  enough. 
She  is  rather  more  famous  for  her  gallantries  than 
for  her  bon-gout  in  the  choice  of  her  favorites ; 
but  it  is  justice  to  Pauline  to  add,  that  her  native 
benevolence  of  heart  seems  to  have  survived  all  her 
fi'ailties ;  and  every  one  who  speaks  of  her  here, 
even  those  who  most  condemn  her,  mention  her 
in  a  tone  of  kindness,  and  even  of  respect.  She  Is 
still  in  deep  mourning  for  the  Emperor. 


257 


The  Villa  Pamfili  is  about  two  miles  from  Rome 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Monte  Gianicolo.  The 
gardens  are  laid  out  in  the  artificial  stj'le  of  Italian 
gardening,  a  style  -which  in  England  would  horiify 
me  as  in  the  vilest  and  most  old-fashioned  taste — • 
stifl",  cold,  unnatural,  and  altogether  detestable. 
Through  what  inconsistency  or  perversity  of  taste 
is  it  then,  that  I  am  enchanted  with  the  fantastic 
eleo-ance  and  the  picturesque  gayety  of  the  Pamfili 
gardens ;  where  sportive  art  revels  and  inins  wild 
amid  the  luxuriance  of  nature  ?  Or  is  it,  as  I  would 
rather  believe,  because  these  long  arcades  of  ver- 
dure, these  close  walls  of  laurel,  pervious  to  the 
air,  but  imper^-ious  to  the  sunshine,  these  broad 
umbrageous  avenues  and  marble  terraces,  these 
paved  grottos  and  ever-trickling  fountains,  these 
gods,  nymphs,  and  urns,  and  sarcophagi,  meeting 
us  at  every  turn  with  some  classical  or  poetical  as- 
sociation, hannonize  with  the  climate  and  the  coun- 
try, and  the  minds  of  the  people  ;  and  are  comfort- 
able and  consistent  as  a  well-carpeted  drawing- 
room  and  a  warm  chimney-corner  Avould  be  in 
England  ? 

"But  it  is  all  so  artificial  and  unnatural" — 
Agreed ; — so  are  our  yellow  unsheltered  gravel- 
walks,  meandering  through  smooth-shaven  lawns, 
which  have  no  other  beauty  than  that  of  being  dry 
when  every  other  place  is  wet;  our  shapeless 
flower-beds  so  elaborately  irregular,  our  clumps 
and  dots  of  trees,  and  dwai-fish  shrubberies.  I  have 


258 


seen  some  over-dressed  grounds  and  gardens  in 
England,  the  perpetrations  of  Capability  Brown 
and  his  imitators,  the  landscape  gardeners,  quite  as 
bad  as  any  thing  I  see  here,  only  in  a  different 
style,  and  certainly  more  adapted  to  England  and 
English  taste.  I  must  confess,  that  in  these  en- 
chanting gardens  of  the  Villa  Pamfili,  a  little  less 
"  ingenuity  and  artifice  "  Avould  be  better.  I  hate 
mere  tricks  and  guncrackery,  of  ■which  there  are  a 
few  instances,  such  as  their  hydraulic  music,  jets- 
d'eau — water-works  that  play  occasionally  for  the 
jistonishment  of  children  and  the  profit  of  the  gar- 
deners— but  how  different,  after  all,  are  these  Ital- 
ian gardens  to  the  miserable  grandeur,  and  sense- 
less, tasteless  parade  of  Versailles  ! 

In  these  gardens  an  interesting  discovery  has 
just  been  made ;  an  extensive  burial-place,  or  co- 
lumbarium, in  singular  preservation.  The  skele- 
tons and  ashes  have  not  been  removed.  Some 
of  the  tombs  are  painted  in  fresco,  others  floored 
with  very  pretty  mosaic.  The  disposition  of  the 
urns  is  curious  :  they  are  imbedded  in  the  masonry 
of  the  wall  with  movable  Hds.  On  a  tile,  I  found 
the  name  of  Sextus  Pompeius,  in  letters  beautifully 
formed,  and  deeply  and  distinctly  cut,  and  an  in- 
scription which  I  was  not  Latinist  enough  to  trans- 
late accurately,  but  from  which  it  appeare  that 
these  coliunbaria  belonged  to  a  branch  of  the  Pom- 
pey  family. 

27. — To-day,  after  English  Chapel,  I  took  a  walk 


259 


to  the  San  Gregorio,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Pala- 
tine, wliich  since  I  first  came  to  Rome  has  been  to 
me  a  lavorite  and  chosen  spot.  I  sat  down  on 
the  steps  of  the  church  to  rest,  and  enjoy  at  leisure 
the  fine  view  of  the  hill  and  ruins  opposite.  Arches 
on  arches,  a  wilderness  of  desolation !  and  mingled 
•nath  massive  fragments  of  the  halls  and  towers  of 
the  Caesars,  were  young  shrubs  just  putting  on  their 
brightest  green,  and  the  almond-trees  covered  with 
their  gay  blossoms,  and  the  cloudless  and  resplend- 
ent skies  bending  over  all. 

T  tried  to  sketch  the  scene  before  mo,  but  could 
not  form  a  stroke.  I  cannot  now  take  a  short  walk 
without  feeling  its  ill  effects ;  and  my  hand  shook 
so  much  from  nervous  weakness,  that  after  a  few 
vain  efforts  to  steady  it,  I  sorrowfully  gave  up  the 
attempt.  On  returning  home  by  the  CoUseum,  and 
through  the  Forum  and  Capitol,  I  met  many  things 
I  should  wish  to  remember.  After  all,  what  place 
is  like  Rome,  where  it  is  impossible  to  move  a  step 
without  meeting  with  some  incident  or  object  to  ex- 
cite reflection,  to  enchant  the  eye,  or  interest  the 
imagination  ?  Rome  may  yield  to  Naples  or  Flor- 
ence in  mere  external  beauty,  but  every  other 
spot  on  earth,  Athens  perhaps  alone  excepted, 
must  j-ield  to  Rome  in  interest. 

***** 

'/8. — This  morning  we  walked  down  to  the  studio 
of  M.  Wagenal,  to  see  the  ^glna  marbles ;  which 
IS  objects   of  curiosity  interested  me  extremely 


2G0  ROME. 

These  statues  are  on  a  smaller  scale  than  I  ex- 
pected, being  not  much  more  than  half  the  size  of 
life,  but  of  better  workmanship,  and  in  a  style  of 
sculpture  altogether  different  from  any  thing  I  ever 
saw  before.  They  formed  the  ornaments  of  the 
pediment  of  the  temple  of  Jupiter  in  the  island  of 
^-Egina,  and  represented  a  group  of  fighting  and 
dying  warriors,  with  an  armed  Pallas  in  the  centre : 
but  the  subject  is  not  known. 

The  execution  of  these  statues  must  evidently  be 
referred  to  the  earliest  ages  of  Grecian  art ;  ^o  a 
period  when  sculpture  was  confined  to  the  exact 
imitation  of  natural  forms.  Several  of  the  figures 
are  extremely  spirited,  and  very  correct  both  in 
design  and  execution ;  but  there  is  no  attempt  at 
grace,  and  a  total  deficiency  of  ideal  beauty :  in  the 
Pallas,  especially,  the  drapery  and  forms  are  but 
one  remove  from  the  cold  formal  Etruscan  style, 
which  in  its  turn  is  but  one  remove  from  the  yet 
more  tasteless  Egyptian.  I  think  it  was  at  the  Villa 
Albani,  I  saw  the  singular  Etruscan  basso-relievo 
which  I  was  able  to  compare  mentally  with  what  I 
saw  to-day;  and  the  resemblance  in  manner  struck 
me  immediately.  Thorwaldson  is  now  restoring 
these  marbles  in  the  most  admirable  style  for  the 
King  of  Bavaria,  to  whom  they  were  sold  by  Messrs. 
Cockerell  and  Linkh  (the  original  discoverers)  for 
8000/. 

Gibson,  the  celebrated  EngHsh  sculptor,  joined 
us  while  looking  at  the  .S^gina  marbles,  and  accom- 


ROME.  261 

panied  us  to  the  studio  of  Pozzi,  the  Florentine 
statuary.  Here,  I  saw  several  instances  of  that 
affected  and  meretricious  taste  which  prevails  too 
much  among  the  foreign  sculptors.  I  remembei 
one  example  almost  ludicrous,  a  female  Satyr  with 
her  hair  turned  up  behind  and  dressed  in  the  last 
Parisian  fashion  ;  as  if  she  had  just  come  from  under 
the  hands  of  Monsieur  HyppoUte.  By  the  same 
hand  which  committed  this  odd  solecism,  I  saw  a 
statue  of  Moses,  now  modelling  in  clay,  which,  if 
finished  in  marble  in  a  style  worthy  of  its  concep- 
tion, and  if  not  spoiled  by  some  affected  niceties  in 
the  execution,  will  be  a  magnificent  and  sublime 
work  of  art. 

Gibson  afterwards  showed  us  round  his  own  stu- 
dio :  his  exquisite  group  of  Psyche  borne  away  by 
the  Zephyrs  enchanted  me.  The  necessity  which 
exists  for  supporting  all  the  figures,  has  rendered  it 
impossible  to  give  them  the  same  aerial  lightness  I 
have  seen  in  paintings  of  the  same  subject,  yet  they 
are  all  but  aerial.  Psyche  was  criticized  by  two  or 
three  of  our  party ;  but  I  thought  her  faultless  :  she 
is  a  lovely  timid  girl ;  and  as  she  leans  on  her  airy 
supporters,  she  seems  to  contemplate  her  flight 
down  the  precipice,  half-shrinking,  though  secure. 
Mr.  W*  *  told  me  that,  in  the  original  design,  the 
left  foot  of  one  of  the  Zephyrs  rested  upon  the 
ground :  and  that  Canova,  coming  in  by  chance 
while  Gibson  was  working  on  the  model,  lifted  it 
up,  and  this  simple  and  masterly  alteration  has  im- 


262 


parted  the  most  exquisite  lightness  to  the  atti- 
tude. 

Gibson  was  C'anova's  favorite  pupil :  he  has 
quite  the  air  of  a  genius:  plain  features,  but  a 
countenance  all  beaming  with  fire,  spirit,  and  intel- 
li<Tence.  His  Psyche  remains  still  in  the  model,  as 
he  has  not  yet  found  a  patron  munificent  enough  to 
order  it  in  marble ;  at  which  I  greatly  wonder. 
Could  I  but  afford  to  bestow  seven  hundred  pounds 
on  my  own  gratification,  I  would  have  given  him 
the  oi'der  on  the  spot.* 

30. — Yesterday  we  dined  al  fresco  in  the  Pam- 
fill  gardens :  and  though  our  party  was  rather  too 
large,  it  was  Avell  assorted,  and  the  day  went  off 
admirably.  The  queen  of  our  feast  was  in  high 
good  humor,  and  irresistible  in  charms:  Frattino, 
very  fascinating,  T*  *  caustic  and  witty,  W*  * 
lively  and  clever.  Sir  J*  *  mild,  intelligent,  and 
elegant,  V*  *,  as  usual,  quiet,  sensible,  and  self- 
complacent,  L*  *  as  absurd  and  assiduous  as  ever. 
Every  body  played  their  part  well,  each  by  a  tacit 
convention  sacrificing  to  the  amour  propre  of  the 
rest.  Every  individual  really  occupied  with  his 
own  particular  role,  but  all  apparently  happy,  and 
mutually  pleased.  Vanity  and  selfishness,  indiffer- 
ence and  ennui,  were  veiled  under  a  general  mask 
of  good-humor  and  good-breeding,  and  the  flowery 
bonds  of  politeness  and   gallantry  held   together 

•  It  is  understood  that  this  beautiful  group  has  since  been 
ixecuteJ  in  marble  for  Sir  George  Beaumont. — Editor. 


263 


those  who  knew  no  common  tie  of  thought  or  in- 
terest; and  when  parted,  (as  they  soon  will  be, 
noith,  south,  east,  and  west,)  will  probably  ncA^er 
meet  again  in  this  world ;  and  whether  they  do  a' 
not,  who  thinks  or  cares ! 

Our  luxurious  dinner,  washed  down  by  a  com- 
petent proportion  of  Malvoisie  and  Champagne, 
was  spread  upon  the  grass,  wliich  was  literally  the 
Jiuwery  turf,  being  covered  with  violets,  iris,  and 
anemones  of  every  dye.  Instead  of  changing  our 
plates,  we  washed  them  in  a  beautiful  fountain 
which  murmured  near  us,  having  first,  by  a  Hba- 
tion,  propitiated  the  presiding  nymph  for  this  pol- 
lution of  her  limpid  waters.  For  my  own  peculiar 
taste  there  were  too  many  servants,  (who  on  these 
occasions  are  always  de  trop,)  too  many  luxuries, 
too  much  fuss;  but  considering  the  style  and  num- 
ber of  our  party  it  was  all  consistently  and  ad- 
mirably managed :  the  grouping  of  the  company, 
pictures(pie  because  unpremeditated,  the  scenery 
round,  the  arcades,  and  bowers,  and  columns,  and 
fountains,  had  an  air  altogether  quite  poetical  and 
romantic  ;  and  put  me  in  mind  of  some  of  AVatteau's 
beautiful  garden-pieces,  and  Stothai'd's  fetes  cham- 
petres. 

To  me  the  day  was  not  a  day  of  pleasure ;  for 
the  small  stock  of  strength  and  spirits  with  which  I 
Bet  out  was  soon  exhausted,  and  the  rest  of  the  day 
was  wasted  in  efforts  to  appear  cheerful  and  sup- 
port my  self  to  the  end,  lest  I  should  spoil  the  gen- 


264 


eral  mirth :  on  all  I  looked  with  complacency  tinged 
with  my  habitual  melancholy.  ^Vhat  I  most  ad- 
mired was  the  delicious  view,  from  an  eminence  in 
the  •noldest  part  of  the  gardens,  over  the  city  and 
Campagna  to  the  blue  Apennines,  where  Frascati 
and  Albano  peeped  forth  like  nests  of  white  build- 
ings glittering  upon  a  rich  bac-kground,  tinted  with 
blue  and  purple ;  the  hill  where  Cato's  villa  stood, 
and  still  called  the  Portian  Hill,  and  on  the  highest 
point  the  ruined  temple  of  Jupiter  Latialis,  visible 
at  the  distance  of  seventeen  miles,  and  shining  in 
the  setting  sun  hke  burnished  gold.  What  I  most 
felt  and  enjoyed  was  the  luxurious.temperature  of 
the  atmosphere,  the  purity  and  brilliance  of  the 
skies,  the  dehcious  security  with  which  I  threw  my- 
self down  on  the  turf  without  fear  of  damp  and 
cold;  and  the  thankful  consciousness,  that  neither 
the  light  or  worldly  beings  round  me,  nor  the  sad- 
ness which  weighed  down  my  own  heart,  had  quite 
deadened  my  once  quick  sense  of  pleasure,  but  left 
me  still  some  perception  of  the  splendor  and  clas- 
sical interest  of  the  glorious  scenes  around  me,  com- 
bined as  it  was  with  all  the  enchantment  of  natural 
l)eauty — 

" The  music  and  the  bloom 

And  all  the  mighty  ravishment  of  spring." 


265 


rOLSE    AI   MARTIRI   OGXI    COXFIX,   CHI    AL    CORE 
TOGLIER   POTEO   LA   LIBERTA    DEL   PIANTO  1 

0  ye  blue  luxurious  skies! 

Sparkling  fountains, 

Snow-capp'd  mountains, 
Classic  shades  that  round  me  rise ! 

Towers  and  temples,  hills  and  groves, 

Scenes  of  glory, 

Fam'd  in  story, 
Where  the  eye  enchanted  roves ' 

0  thou  rich  erabroider'd  earth! 

Opening  flowers. 

Leafy  bowers. 
Sights  of  gladness,  sounds  of  mirth! 

Why  to  my  desponding  heart, 

Darkly  thinking, 

Sadly  sinking, 
Can  ye  no  delight  impart? 

Written  on  an  old  pedestal  in  the  gardens  of  the  Villa 
Pamfili,  yesterday,  (ilarch  29th.) 

Sunday,  3 1 . — To-day  the  Holy  week  begins,  and 
a  kind  of  programma  of  the  usual  ceremonies  of 
each  day  was  laid  on  my  toilet  this  morning. 
The  bill  of  fare  for  this  day  runs  thus : — 

"  Domenica  delle  Palme,  nel  Capella  Papale  nel 
Palazzo  Apostolico,  canta  messa  un  Cardinal  Prete. 
D  Sommo  Pontefice  fa  la  benedizione  delle  Palme, 
con  processione  per  la  Sala  Regia." 


266 


I  gave  up  going  to  the  English  service  accord- 
ingly, and  consented  to  accompany  R*  *  and  V** 
to  the  Pope's  Chapel.  We  entered  just  as  ine 
ceremony  of  blessing  the  palms  was  going  on :  a 
cardinal  officiated  for  the  poor  old  pope,  who  is  at 
present  ill. 

After  the  palms  had  been  duly  blessed,  they  were 
carried  in  procession  round  the  splendid  anti- 
chamber,  called  the  Sala  Regia ;  meantime  the 
chapel  doors  were  closed  upon  them,  and  on  cheir 
return,  they  (not  the  palms,  but  the  priests)  knocked 
and  demanded  entrance  in  a  fine  recitative ;  two 
of  the  principal  voices  replied  from  within  ;  the 
choir  without  sung  a  response,  and  after  a  moment's 
silence  the  doors  were  opened,  and  the  service 
"went  on. 

This  was  very  trivial  and  tedious.  Rospo  said, 
very  truly,  that  the  procession  in  Blue  Beard  was 
much  better  got  up.  All  these  processions  sound 
very  fine  in  mere  description,  but  in  the  reality 
there  is  always  something  to  disappoint  or  disgust ; 
something  which  leaves  either  a  ludicrous  or  a  pain- 
ful impression  on  the  mind.  The  old  priests  and 
cardinals  to-day  looking  like  so  many  old  beggar- 
women  dressed  up  in  the  cast-off  finerj-  of  a  Christ- 
mas pantomime,  the  assistants  smirking  and  whisper- 
ing, the  singers  grinning  at  each  other  between 
every  solemn  strain  of  melody,  and  blowing  their 
noses  and  spitting  about  like  true  Italians — in  short, 
the  want  of  keeping  in  the  tuul  ensemble  shocked 


267 


my  taste  and  my  imagination,  and,  1  may  add, 
better,  more  serious  feelings.  It  is  well  to  see  these 
things  once,  that  we  may  not  be  cheated  with  fine 
words,  but  judge  for  ourselves.  I  foresee,  how- 
ever, that  I  shall  not  be  tempted  to  encounter  any 
of  the  more  crowded  ceremonies. 

I  remarked  that  all  the  ItaUans  wore  black  to- 
day. 

We  spent  the  afternoon  at  the  Vatican.  We 
found  St.  Peter's  almost  deserted;  few  people,  no 
music,  the  pictures  all  muffled,  and  the  altai"s  hung 
with  black  drapery.  The  scaffolding  was  preparing 
for  the  ceremonies  of  the  week ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
St.  Peter's  appeared,  for  the  firet  time,  disagreeable 
and  gloomy. 

Monday,  April  1. — Non  riconosco  oggi  la  mia  belia 
Italia !  Clouds,  and  cold,  and  rain,  to  which  we 
have  been  so  long  unaccustomed,  seem  unnatural ; 
and  deform  that  peculiar  character  of  sunny  loveli- 
ness which  belongs  to  this  country :  and,  apropos  to 
climate,  I  may  as  well  observe  now,  that  since  the 
1st  of  February,  when  we  left  Rome  for  Naples,  up 
to  this  present  1st  of  April,  not  one  day  has  been 
so  rainy  as  to  confine  us  to  the  house  :  and  on  re- 
ferring to  my  memoranda  of  the  weather,  I  find 
that  at  Naples  it  rained  one  day  for  a  few  hours 
only,  and  for  about  two  hours  on  the  morning  we 
left  it :  since  then,  not  a  drop  of  rain  has  fallen 
all  hot,  cloudless,  lovely  weather.  We  have  been 
f  jr  the  last  three  waeks  in  summer  costmue,  and 


268 


guard  against  the  heat  as  we  should  in  England 
during  the  dog-days.  To  have  an  idea  of  an 
Italian  summer,  Mr.  W*  *  says  we  must  fancy  tho 
present  heat  quadrupled. 

The  day,  notwithstanding,  has  been  unusually 
pleasant :  the  afternoon,  though  not  brilliant,  waa 
clear  and  soft ;  and  we  drove  in  the  open  carriage 
first  to  the  little  church  of  Santa  Maria  della  Pace, 
to  see  Raffaelle's  famous  fi'esco,  the  Four  Sibyls. 
It  is  in  the  finest  preservation,  and  combines  all  his 
peculiar  graces  of  design  and  expression.  The 
coloring  has  not  sufiered  from  time  and  damp  hke 
that  of  the  frescos  in  the  Vatican,  but  it  is  at  once 
brilliant  and  delicate.  Nothing  can  exceed  the 
exquisite  grace  of  the  Sibilla  Persica,  nor  the 
beautiful  drapery  and  inspired  look  of  the  Cumana. 
Fortunately,  I  had  never  seen  any  copy  or  en- 
graving of  this  masterpiece :  its  beauty  was  to  me 
enhanced  by  surprise  and  all  the  charm  of  novelty : 
and  my  gratification  was  complete. 

We  afterwards  spent  half  an  hour  in  the  gardens 
of  the  Villa  Lanti,  on  the  ISIonte  Gianicolo.  The 
view  of  Rome  from  these  gardens  is  superb  :  though 
the  sky  was  clouded,  the  atmosphere  was  perfectly 
pure  and  clear :  the  eye  took  in  the  whole  extent 
of  ancient  and  modern  Rome ;  beyond  it  the  Cam- 
pagna,  the  Alban  Hills,  and  the  Apennines,  which 
appeared  of  a  deep  purple,  with  pale  clouds  float- 
ing over  their  sunmiits.  The  city  lay  at  our  feet, 
m  ent,  and  clothed  with  the  daylight  as  with  a  gar- 


269 


ment ;  no  smoke,  no  vapor,  no  sound,  no  motion, 
no  sign  of  life  :  it  looked  like  a  city  whose  inhab- 
itants had  been  suddenly  petrified,  or  smitten  by  a 
destroj'ing  angel ;  and  such  was  the  effect  of  its 
strange  and  solemn  beauty,  that,  before  I  was  aware, 
I  felt  my  eyes  fill  with  teai-s  as  I  looked  upon  it. 

I  saw  Naples  from  the  Castle  of  Saut  Elmo — 
setting  aside  the  sea  and  Mount  Vesu\ius,  those 
xmequalled  features  in  that  radiant  picture — the 
view  of  the  city  of  Naples  is  not  so  fine  as  the 
view  of  Rome :  it  is,  comparatively,  deficient  iu 
sentiment,  in  interest,  and  in  dignity.  Naples  weai-s 
on  her  brow  the  voluptuous  beauty  of  a  syren — • 
Rome  sits  desolate  on  her  seven-hilled  throne,  "  thi 
Niohe  of  Nations." 

I  wish  I  could  have  painted  what  I  saw  to-day  as 
I  saw  it.  Yet  no— the  reality  was  perhaps  too 
much  like  a  picture  to  please  in  a  picture :  the  ex- 
quisite harmony  of  the  coloring,  the  softness  of  the 
lights  and  shades,  the  solemn  death-like  stiUness, 
the  distinctness  of  every  form  and  outline,  and  the 
classic  interest  attached  to  every  noble  object,  com- 
bined to  form  a  scene,  which  hereafter,  iu  the  si- 
lence of  my  own  thoughts,  I  shall  often  love  to  re- 
call and  to  dwell  upon. 

To-night  I  read  with  Incoronati,  the  Fourth  book 
af  Dante,  and  two  of  Petrarch's  Canzoni  "  I'  vo 
pensando,"  and  "  Verdi  panni,"  making  notes  from 
his  explanations  and  remarks  as  1  went  along. 
These  two  Ccinzoni  I  had  selected  as  being  junong 


270 


the  most  puzzling  as  well  as  the  most  bea\iliful. 
Those  are  strangely  mistaken,  who,  from  a  super- 
ficial study  of  a  few  of  his  amatory  sonnets,  regard 
Petrarch  as  a  mere  love-sick  poet,  who  spent  his 
time  in  be-rhyming  an  obdurate  mistress ;  and  those 
are  equally  mistaken  who  consider  him  as  the  poet- 
ical votarist  of  an  imaginary  fair  one.  I  know  but 
little,  even  of  the  little  that  is  known  of  his  life ; 
for  I  remember  being  as  much  terrified  by  the 
ponderous  quartos  of  the  Abbe  de  Sade,  as  I  was 
discomfited  and  disappointed  by  the  flimsy  oc-tavo 
of  Mrs.  Dobson.  I  am  now  studying  Petrarch  in 
his  own  works ;  and  it  seemeth  to  me,  in  my  simple 
Avit,  that  such  exquisite  touches  of  truth  and  nature, 
such  depth  and  purity  of  feeling,  such  felicity  of 
expression,  such  vivid  yet  delicate  pictures  of 
female  beauty,  could  spring  only  from  a  real  and 
heartfelt  passion.  We  know  too  httle  of  Laura; 
but  it  is  probable,  if  she  had  always  preserved  a 
stern  and  unfeeling  indifference,  she  would  not 
have  so  entirely  commanded  the  affections  of  a 
feehng  heart ;  and  had  she  yielded,  she  would  not 
so  long  have  preserved  her  influence. 

Think  you  if  Laura  had  been  Petrarch's  wife, 
He  would  have  written  sonnets  all  his  life  ? 

In  truth,  she  appears  to  have  been  the  most  finished 
coquette  of  her  own  or  any  other  age.* 

*  See  the  admirable  and  eloquent  "  Essays  on  Petrarch,  by 
Ugo  Foscolo,"  which  have  appeared  since  this  Diarj  was  writlfn 
—Editor 


ROME.  271 

3. — What  a  delight  it  would  be,  if,  at  the  end  of 
a  day  like  this,  I  had  somebody  with  whom  I  could 
,alk  over  things — with  whose  feelings  and  impres- 
sions I  could  compare  my  own — who  would  direct 
my  judgment,  and  assist  me  in  arranging  my  ideas, 
and  double  every  pleasure  by  sharing  it  with  me  ! 
What  would  have  become  of  me  if  I  had  not 
thought  of  keeping  a  Diary  ?  I  should  have  died 
of  a  sort  of  mental  repletion  !  What  a  consolation 
and  employment  has  it  been  to  me  to  let  my  ovei-- 
flowing  heart  and  soul  exhale  themselves  on  paper ! 
When  I  have  neither  power  nor  spirits  to  join  in 
conmion-place  conversation,  I  open  my  dear  little 
Diary,  and  feel,  wliile  my  pen  thus  swiftly  glides 
along,  much  less  as  if  I  were  writing  than  as  if  I 
were  speaking — yes  !  speaking  to  one  who  perhaps 
will  read  this  when  I  am  no  more — but  not  till 
then. 

I  was  well  enough  to  walk  up  to  the  Rospigliosi 
Palace  this  morning  to  see  Guido's  Aurora :  it  is 
on  the  ceiling  of  a  pavilion :  would  it  were  not ! 
for  I  looked  at  it  till  my  neck  ached,  and  my  brain 
turned  giddy  and  sick.  I  can  only  say  that  it  far 
surpassed  my  expectations :  the  coloring  is  the 
most  brilliant  yet  the  most  harmonious  in  the  world  ; 
and  there  is  a  depth,  a  strength,  a  richness  in  the 
tints,  not  common  to  Guido's  style.  The  whole  is 
as  fresh  as  if  painted  yesterday;  though  Guide 
must  have  died  sometime  about  1 640. 

On  each  side  of  the  hall  or  pavilion  adorned  by 


272 


the  Aurora,  there  Is  a  small  room,  containing  a  few 
excellent  pictures.  The  Triumph  of  David,  by 
Domenichino,  a  fine  rich  picture  ;  an  exquisite  An- 
dromeda, by  Guido,  painted  with  his  usual  delicacy 
and  sentiment;  the  Twelve  Apostles,  by  Rubens, 
some  of  them  very  fine ;  "  the  Five  Senses,"  said 
to  be  by  Carlo  Cignani,  but  if  so  he  has  surpassed 
himself:  it  is  like  Domenichino.  The  Death  of 
Samson,  by  L.  Carracci,  wearies  the  eye  by  the 
number  and  confusion  of  the  figures:  it  has  no 
principal  group  upon  which  the  attention  can  rest. 
There  is  also  a  fine  portrait  of  Nicolo  Poussin,  by 
himself,  and  an  interesting  head  of  Guido. 

At  three  o'clock  we  went  down  to  the  Capella 
Sistina  to  hear  the  Miserere.  In  describing  the 
effect  produced  by  this  divine  music,  the  time,  the 
place,  the  scenic  contrivance  should  be  taken  into 
account:  the  time — solemn  twilight,  just  as  the 
shades  begin  to  fall  around :  the  place — a  noble 
and  lofty  hall  where  the  terrors  of  Michel  Angelo's 
Last  Judgment  are  rendered  more  terrible  by  the 
gathering  gloom,  and  his  sublime  Prophets  and 
Sibyls  frown  dimly  upon  us  from  the  walls  above. 
The  extinguishing  of  the  tapers,  the  concealed 
choir,  the  angelic  voices  chosen  from  among  the 
finest  in  the  world,  and  blended  by  long  practice 
into  the  most  perfect  unison,  were  combined  to 
produce  that  overpowering  eifect  which  has  so  often 
been  described.  Many  ladies  wept,  and  one  fainted 
Unassisted  vocal  music  is  certainly  the  finest  of  all . 


279 


no  power  of  instruments  could  have  thrillei  me 
like  the  blended  stream  of  melancholy  hamiony, 
breathed  forth  with  suih  an  expression  of  despair- 
ing anguish,  that  it  was  almost  too  much  to  bear. 

Good-Friday. — I  saw  more  new,  amusing,  and 
delightful  things  yesterday,  than  I  can  attempt  to 
describe  or  even  enumerate  :  but  I  think  there  is 
no  danger  of  my  forgetting  general  impressions: 
if  my  memory  should  fall  me  in  particulars,  my 
imagination  can  always  recall  the  whole. 

In  the  morning  I  declined  going  to  see  the  cere- 
monies at  the  Vatican.  The  procession  of  the 
host  from  the  Slstine  to  the  Pauline  Chapel ;  the 
washing  of  the  pilgrims'  feet,  &c. — all  these  things 
are  less  than  indifi'erent  to  me  ;  and  the  illness  and 
absence  of  the  poor  old  pope  rendei-ed  them  par- 
ticularly uninteresting.  Every  body  went  but  my- 
self; and  it  was  agreed  that  we  should  all  meet  at 
the  door  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  at  five  o'clock.  I 
remained  quietly  at  home  on  my  sofa  till  one ;  and 
then  drove  to  the  Museum  of  the  Vatican,  where  I 
spent  the  rest  of  the  day ;  it  was  a  grand  festa,  and 
the  whole  of  the  Vatican,  including  the  immense 
suite  of  splendid  libraries,  was  thrown  open  to  the 
public.  All  the  foreigners  in  Rome  having  crowded 
to  St.  Peter's,  or  the  chapels,  to  view  the  ceremonies 
going  on,  I  was  the  only  stranger  amidst  an  as- 
semblage of  the  common  people  and  peasantry, 
who  had  come  to  lounge  there  till  the  lighting  up 
of  the  Cross.  I  walked  on  and  on,  hour  after  hour 
18 


274 


lost  In  amazement,  and  wondeiing  where  and  when 
ihis  glorious  labyrinth  was  to  end  ;  successive  gal- 
leries fitted  up  with  the  gay  splendor  of  an 
Oriental  Haram,  in  which  the  books  and  manu- 
scripts are  all  arranged  and  numbered  in  cases; 
the  beautiful  perspective  of  hall  beyond  hall  vanish- 
ing away  into  immeasurable  distance,  the  refulgent 
light  shed  over  all ;  and  add  to  this,  the  extra- 
ordinary visages  and  costumes  of  the  people,  who 
with  their  families  wandered  along  in  groups  or 
singly,  all  behaving  with  the  utmost  decorum,  and 
making  emphatic  exclamations  on  the  beauties 
around  them — "  Ah  I  che  hella  cosa  !  Coxa  rani !  O 
hella  asfsai  I "  all  ftirnished  me  with  such  ample 
matter  for  amusement,  and  observation,  and  ad- 
miration, that  I  was  insensible  to  fatigue,  and  knew 
not  that  in  five  hours  I  had  scarce  completed  the 
circuit  of  the  Museum. 

One  room  (the  Camera  dei  Papiri)  sti'uck  me 
particularly:  it  is  a  small  octagon,  the  ceiling  and 
ornaments  painted  by  Raifaelle  Mengs  with  ex- 
quisite taste.  Tlie  gi-oup  on  the  ceiling  represents 
the  iSIuse  of  History  writing,  while  her  book  re- 
poses on  the  wings  of  Time,  and  a  Genius  supplies 
her  with  materials:  the  panels  of  this  room  are 
formed  of  old  manuscripts,  pasted  up  against  the 
walls  and  glazed.  The  effect  of  the  whole  is  as 
singular  as  beautiful. 

A  new  gallery  of  marbles  has  lately  been  opened 
by  the  Pope,  called  from  its  form  the  Sala  della 


275 


Croce:  in  splendid,  classical,  and  tasteful  decora- 
tion, it  equals  any  of  the  others,  but  is  not,  per- 
haps, so  remarkable  for  the  intrinsic  value  of  its 
contents. 

I  never  more  deeply  felt  my  own  ignorance  and 
deficiencies  than  I  did  to-day.  I  saw  so  many 
things  I  did  not  understand,  so  much  which  I  wished 
to  have  explained  to  me,  I  longed  so  inexpiessibly 
for  some  one  to  talk  to,  to  exclaim  to,  to  help  me  to 
wonder,  to  admire,  to  be  exi aside  !  but  I  was  alone  : 
and  I  know  not  how  it  is,  or  why,  but  when  i  am 
alone,  not  only  my  powers  of  enjoyment  seem  to 
fail  me  in  a  degree,  but  even  my  mental  faculties ; 
and  the  multitude  of  my  own  ideas  and  sensations 
confuse,  oppress,  and  irritate  me. 

I  walked  through  the  whole  giro  of  the  Museum, 
examining  the  busts  and  pictures  particularly,  with 
the  help  of  Este's  admirable  catalogue  raisonnee, 
and  at  half-past  five  I  reached  the  Sistine  Chapel, 
just  in  time  to  hear  the  second  Miserere :  neither 
the  music  nor  the  cfT'ort  were  equal  to  the  first 
evening.  The  music,  though  inferior  to  Allegri's, 
was  truly  beautiful  and  sublune ;  but  the  scenic 
pageantry  did  not  strike  so  much  on  repetition :  the 
chapel  was  insufferably  crowded,  I  was  sick  and 
stupid  from  heat  and  fatigue ;  and,  to  crown  all, 
just  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  most  overpowering 
Bti-ains,  the  cry  of  condemned  souls  pleading  for 
mercy,  which  made  my  heait  pause,  and  my  flesh 
creep — a  lady  behind  me  whispered  loudly,  "  Do 


278  ROME. 

look  w'.at  lovely  broderie  Mrs.  L**  has  on  her 
white  saiin  spencer ! " 

After  the  Miserere,  we  adjourned  to  St.  Peter's, 
to  see  the  illumination  of  the  Girandola.  I  confess 
the  first  glance  disappointed  me;  for  the  cross, 
though  more  than  thirty  feet  in  height,  looks  trivial 
and  diminutive,  compared  with  the  immensity  of 
the  dome  in  which  it  is  suspended :  but  just  as  I 
was  beginning  to  admire  the  sublime  effect  of  the 
whole  scene,  I  was  obliged  to  leave  the  church, 
being  unable  to  stand  the  fatigue  any  longer. 
***** 

To-day  we  have  remained  quietly  at  home,  re- 
cruiting after  the  exertions  of  yesterday.  After 
limner  Colonel and  Mr.  W  *  *  began  to  dis- 
cuss the  politics  of  Italy,  and  from  abusing  the  gov- 
ernments, they  fell  upon  the  people,  and  being  of 
very  opposite  principles  and  parties,  they  soon 
began  an  argument  which  ended  in  a  warm  dis- 
pute, and  sent  me  to  take  refuge  in  my  own  room. 
How  I  detest  politics  and  discord !  How  I  hate 
the  discussion  of  politics  in  Italy !  and,  above  all, 
the  discussion  of  Italian  politics,  which  offer  no 
point  upon  which  the  mind  can  dwell  with  pleas- 
ure. I  have  not  wandered  to  Italy — "  this  land  of 
sunlit  skies  and  fountains  clear,"  as  Barry  Corn- 
wall calls  it, — only  to  scrape  together  materials  for 
a  (juarto  tour,  or  to  sweep  up  the  leavings  of  the 
"  fearless  "  Lady  Morgan ;  or  to  dwell  upon  the 
heart-sickening  realities  which  meet  me  at  every 


ROME.  277 

turn ;  evils  of  which  I  neither  understand  the 
cause,  nor  the  cure.     And  yet  say  not  to  Italy 

"  Caduta  6  la  tua  gloria — e  tu  nol'  vedi !  " 

— she  does  see  it, — she  does  feel  it.  A  spirit  is 
silently  and  gradually  working  its  way  beneath  the 
surface  of  society,  wliich  must,  ere  long,  break 
forth  either  for  good  or  for  evil.  Between  a  profli- 
gate and  servile  nobility,  and  a  degraded  and 
enslaved  populace,  a  middle  class  has  lately  sprung 
up  ;  the  men  of  letters,  the  artists,  the  professors  in 
the  sciences,  who  have  obtained  property,  or  dis- 
tinction at  least,  in  the  commotions  which  have 
agitated  their  country,  and  those  who  have  served 
at  home  or  abroad  in  the  revolutionary  wars. 
These  all  seem  impelled  by  one  and  the  same 
spirit ;  and  make  up  for  their  want  of  numbers  by 
their  activity,  talents,  enthusiasm,  and  the  secret 
but  increasing  influence  which  they  exert  over  the 
other  classes  of  society.  But  on  subjects  like  these, 
however  Interesting,  I  have  no  means  of  obtaining 
information  at  once  general  and  accurate  :  and  I 
would  rather  not  think,  nor  speak,  nor  write,  upon 
"  matters  which  are  too  high  for  me."  Let  the 
modern  Italians  be  what  they  may, — what  I  hear 
them  styled  six  times  a  day  at  least, — a  dirty,  de- 
moralized, degraded,  unprincipled  race, — centuries 
behind  our  thi-Ice-blessed,  prosperous,  and  comfort- 
loving  nation  in  civilization  and  morals:  if  I  were 
come  among  them  as  a  resident,  this  picture  might 


278 


alarn*  me  :  situated  as  I  am,  a  nameless  sort  of  per- 
6011,  a  mere  bird  of  passage,  it  concerns  me  not.  I 
am  not  come  to  spy  out  the  nakedness  of  the  land, 
but  to  implore  from  her  healing  airs  and  lucid  skies 
the  health  and  peace  I  have  lost,  and  to  worship  as 
a  pilgrim  at  the  tomb  of  her  departed  glories.  I 
have  not  many  opportunities  of  studying  the  na- 
tional character  ;  I  have  no  deahngs  with  the  lower 
classes,  little  intercourse  with  the  higher.  No 
ti-adesmen  cheat  me,  no  hired  menials  irritate  me, 
no  inn-keepers  fleece  me,  no  postmasters  abuse  me. 
I  love  these  rich  delicious  skies ;  I  love  this  genial 
sunshine,  which,  even  in  December,  sends  the 
spirits  dancing  through  the  veins  ;  this  pure  elastic 
atmosphere,  which  not  only  brings  the  distant 
landscape,  but  almost  Heaven  itself,  nearer  to  the 
eye ;  and  all  the  treasures  of  art  and  nature  which 
are  poured  forth  around  me ;  and  over  which  my 
own  mind,  teeming  with  images,  recollections,  and 
associations,  can  fling  a  beauty  even  beyond  their 
own.  I  willingly  turn  from  all  that  excites  the 
spleen  and  disgust  of  others :  from  all  that  nxdy  so 
easily  be  despised,  derided,  reviled,  and  abandon 
my  heart  to  that  state  of  calm  benevolence  towards 
all  around  me,  which  leaves  me  undisturbed  to 
enjoy,  admire,  observe,  reflect,  remember,  with 
pleasure,  if  not  with  profit,  and  enables  me  to  look 
upon,  the  glorious  scenes  with  which  I  am  sur- 
rounded, not  with  the  impertinent  inquisition  of 
%  book-maker,  nor  the  gloomy  calculations  of  a 


ROME.  273 

politician,  nor  the  sneering  selfism  of  a  Smelfungua 
— but  with  the  eye  of  the  painter,  and  the  feeling 
of  the  poet. 

Apropos  to  poets  I — Lady  C  *  *  has  just  sent 
us  tickets  for  Sestini's  Accademia  to-morroiv  night. 
So  far  from  the  race  of  Improvvisatori  being  ex- 
tinct, or  living  only  in  the  pages  of  Corinne,  or  in 
the  memory  of  the  Fantastici,  and  the  Bandinelll, 
the  Gianis  and  the  Gorillas  of  other  days, — there  is 
scarcely  a  small  town  in  Italy,  as  I  £mi  informed, 
without  its  Lnprovvisatore ;  and  I  know  several 
individuals  in  the  higher  classes  of  society-,  both 
here,  and  at  Florence,  more  particularly,  who  are 
remarkable  for  possessing  tliis  extraordinary  talent 
• — though,  of  course,  it  is  only  exercised  for  the 
gratification  of  a  private  circle.  Of  those  who 
make  a  public  exhibition  of  their  powers,  Sgricci 
and  Sestini  are  the  most  celebrated — and  of  these 
Sgricci  ranks  first.  I  never  heard  him  ;  but  Signior 
Incoronati,  who  knows  him  well,  described  to  me 
his  talents  and  powers  as  almost  supernatural.  A 
wonderful  display  of  his  art  was  the  iwprovvisa- 
zione — we  have  no  English  word  for  a  talent  which 
in  England  is  unknown, — of  a  regular  tragedy  on 
the  Greek  model,  with  the  chorusses  and  dialogue 
complete.  The  subject  proposed  was  from  the 
story  of  Ulysses,  which  afforded  him  an  opportunity 
of  bringing  in  the  whole  sonorous  nomenclature  of 
th(i  Heathen  Mythology,  —  Avhich,  says  Forsyth, 
eniers  into  the  web  of  every  improvvisatore,  and 


280 


assists  the  poet  both  with  rhymes  and  ideas.  Most 
of  the  celebrated  improvvisatori  have  been  Floren- 
tines :  Sgricci  is,  I  believe,  a  Neapolitan,  and  hia 
rival  Sestini  a  Roman. 

AprU  7. — Any  public  exhibition  of  talent  in  the 
Fine  Arts  is  here  called  an  Accademia.  Sestini 
gave  his  Accademia  in  an  antechamber  of  the  Pa- 
lazzo   ,  I  forget  its  name,  but  it  was  much  like 

all  the  other  palaces  we  are  accustomed  to  see 
here ;  exhibiting  the  same  strange  contrast  of 
ancient  taste  and  magnificence,  with  present  mean- 
ness and  poverty.  We  were  ushered  into  a  lofty 
room  of  noble  size  and  beautiful  proportions,  with 
its  rich  fresco-painted  walls  and  ceiling  faded  and 
falling  to  decay ;  a  common  brick  floor,  and  sundry 
window-panes  broken,  and  stuffed  with  paper. 
The  room  was  nearly  filled  by  the  audience, 
amongst  whom  I  remarked  a  great  number  of 
English.  A  table  with  writing  implements,  and 
an  old  shattered  jingling  piano,  occupied  one  side 
of  the  apartment,  and  a  small  space  was  left  in 
front  for  the  poet.  Whilst  we  waited  with  some 
impatience  for  his  appearance,  several  persons 
present  walked  up  to  the  table  and  wrote  down 
various  subjects ;  which  on  Sestini's  coming  for- 
ward, he  read  aloud,  marking  tl  ose  which  were 
distinguished  by  the  most  general  applause.  This 
selection  formed  our  evening's  entertainment.  A 
ladv  sat  down  in  her  bonnet  and  shawl  to  aecom- 


ROME.  281 

pany  him ;  and  when  fatigued,  another  fair  musi- 
cian readily  supplied  her  place.  It  is  seldom  that 
an  improTvisatore  attempts  to  recite  without  the 
assistance  of  music.  When  Dr.  Moore  heard 
Gorilla  at  Florence,  she  sang  to  the  accompaniment 
of  two  violins.*  La  Fantastici  preferred  the 
guitar ;  and  I  should  have  preferred  either  to  our 
jingling  hai-psichord.  However,  a  few  chords 
struck  at  intervals  were  sufHcient  to  support  the 
voice,  and  mark  the  time.  Several  airs  were  tried, 
and  considered  before  the  poet  could  fix  on  one 
suited  to  his  subject,  and  the  measure  he  intended 
to  employ.  In  general  they  were  pretty  and 
simple,  consisting  of  very  few  notes,  and  more  like 
a  chant  or  recitative,  than  a  regular  air :  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  I  have  obtained,  and  shall  bring 
with  me  to  England. 

The  moment  Sestini  had  made  his  choice,  he 
stepped  forward,  and  without  further  pause  or  prep- 
aration, began  with  the  first  subject  upon  his  list, — 
"  11  primo  Navigatove." 

Gesner's  beautiftd  Idyl  of  "  The  First  Naviga- 
tor" supplied  Sestini  with  the  story,  in  all  its  de- 
tails ;  but  he  versified  it  with  surprising  facility : 
and,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  with  great  spii-it  and 


♦Gorilla  (whose  real  name  was  Maddalenallorelli)  often  accom- 
panied herself  on  the  violin;  not  holding  it  against  her  shoulder 
but;  resting  it  in  her  lap.  She  was  reckoned  a  fine  performer  on 
this  instrument ;  and  for  her  distinguished  tuleuts  was  crowned  in 
the  Capitol  in  1779 


282  ROME. 

elegance.  He  added,  too,  some  ti'ifling  circum 
stances,  and  several  little  traits,  the  naivete  of 
which  afforded  considerable  amusement.  "When 
an  accurate  rhyme,  or  apt  expression,  did  not  oflier 
itself  on  the  instant  it  was  required,  he  knit  his 
brows  and  clenched  his  fingers  with  impatience  ; 
but  I  think  he  never  hesitated  more  than  halt'  a 
second.  At  tlie  moment  the  chord  was  struck  the 
rhyme  was  ready.  In  this  manner  he  poured  forth 
between  thirty  and  forty  stanzas,  with  still  in- 
creasing animation ;  and  wound  up  his  poem  with 
some  beautiful  images  of  love,  happiness,  and  inno- 
cence. Of  his  success  I  could  form  some  idea  by 
the  applauses  he  received  from  better  judges  than 
myself. 

After  a  few  minutes'  repose  and  a  glass  of 
water,  he  next  called  on  the  company  to  supply 
him  Avith  rhymes  for  a  sonnet.  These,  as  fast  as 
they  were  suggested  by  various  persons,  he  wrote 
down  on  a  slip  of  paper.  The  last  rhyme  given 
was  "  Ontello" — (a  common  ale-house,) — at  which 
he  demurred,  and  submitting  to  the  company  the 
difficulty  of  introducing  so  vulgar  a  word  into  an 
heroic  sonnet,  respectfully  begged  that  another 
might  be  substituted.  A  lady  called  out  "  Avello," 
the  poetical  term  for  a  grave,  or  a  sepulchre,  which 
expression  bore  a  happy  analogy  to  the  subject 
proposed.  The  poet  smiled,  well  pleased ; — and 
stepping  forward  with  the  paper  in  his  hand,  he 
immediately,  without  even  a  moment's  preparation, 


283 


recited  a  sonnet  on  the  second  subject  upon  his 
list, — "  La  Morte  di  Alfieri." — I  could  better  judge 
of  the  merit  of  this  effusion,  because  he  spoke  it 
unaccompanied  by  music  ;  and  his  enunciation 
■svas  remarkably  distinct.  The  subject  was  pop- 
ular, and  treated  widi  much  feeUng  and  poedc 
fervor.  After  lamenting  Alfieri  as  the  patriot,  as 
well  as  the  bard,  and  as  the  glory  of  his  country, 
he  concluded,  by  indignantly  repelling  the  suppo- 
sition that  "  the  latest  sparks  of  genius  and  free- 
dom were  buried  in  the  tomb  of  A'ittorio  Alfieri." 
A  thunder  of  applause  followed ;  and  cries  of 
"  O  bravo  Sestini !  bravo  Sestini  1 "  were  echoed 
from  the  Italian  portion  of  the  audience,  long  after 
the  first  acclamations  had  subsided.  The  men 
rose  simultaneously  from  their  seats  ;  and  I  confess 
I  could  hardly  keep  mine.  The  animation  of  the 
poet,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  audience  sent  a 
thrill  through  every  nerve  and  filled  my  eyes  with 
tears. 

The  next  subject  was  "  La  Morte  di  Bcaliice 
Cenci;" — and  this,  I  think,  was  a  failure.  The 
frightful  story  of  the  Cenci  is  well  known  in  Eng- 
land since  the  publication  of  Shelley's  Tragedy. 
Here  it  is  familiar  to  all  classes ;  and  though  two 
centuries  have  since  elapsed,  it  seems  as  fresh  in 
the  memory,  or  rather  in  the  imagination  of  these 
people,  as  if  it  had  happened  but  yesterday.  The 
subject  was  not  well  chosen  for  a  public  and  mixed 
ass-embly  ;    and   Sestini,   without  ad^•erting  to  the 


284 


previous  details  of  horror,  confined  himself  most 
scrupulously,  with  propriety,  to  the  subject  pro- 
posed. He  described  Beatrice  led  to  execution, — 
"  con  haldanza  casta  e  generosa," — and  the  effect 
produced  on  the  multitude  by  her  youth  ; — not  for- 
getting to  celebrate  "  those  t7-esses  like  threads  of 
gold  ivhose  wavy  splendor  dazzled  all  beholders," 
as  they  are  described  by  a  contemporary  writer. 
He  put  into  her  mouth  a  long  and  pious  dying 
speech,  in  which  she  expressed  her  trust  in  the 
blessed  Virgin,  and  her  hopes  of  pardon  from  eter- 
nal justice  and  mercy.  To  my  surprise,  he  also 
made  her  in  one  stanza  confess  and  repent  the 
murder,  or  rather  sacrifice,*  which  she  had  perpe- 
trated ;  which  is  contrary  to'  the  known  fact,  that 
Beatrice  7iever  confessed  to  the  last  moment  of 
existence  ;  nor  gave  any  reason  to  suppose  that  she 
repented.  The  whole  was  drawn  out  to  too  great 
a  length,  and,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  happy 
touches,  and  pathetic  sentiments,  went  off  flatly.  It 
was  very  Uttle  applauded. 

The  next  subject  was  the  "  hnmortalily  of  the 
Sold,"  on  which  the  poet  displayed  amazing  pomp 
and  power  of  words,  and  a  wonderful  affluence  of 
ideas.  He  showed,  too,  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  all  that  had  ever  been  said,  or  sung,  upon  the 
same  subject  from  Plato  to  Thomas  Aquinas.  I 
confess  I  derived  little  benefit  from  all  this  display 

*  Ot/iello. — Thou  mak'st  me  call  wbat  I  intend  to  do 
A  murder, — which  I  thought  a  sacrifice. — 


285 


of  poetry  and  erudition ;  for,  after  the  first  few 
stanzas,  finding  myself  irretrievably  perplexed  by 
the  united  difficulties  of  the  language  and  the  sub- 
ject, I  withdrew  my  attention,  and  amused  myself 
with  the  paintings  on  the  walls,  and  with  reveries 
on  the  past  and  present,  till  I  was  roused  by  the 
acclamations  that  followed  the  conclusion  of  the 
poem,  which  excited  very  general  admiration  and 
applause. 

The  company  then  furnished  the  bouts-rimes  for 
another  sonnet:  the  subject  was  ^'■VAmor  della 
Patria."  The  title,  even  before  he  began,  was 
hailed  by  a  round  of  plaudits  ;  and  the  sonnet  itself 
was  excellent  and  spirited.  Excellent  I  mean  in 
its  general  et?ect,  as  an  improvvisazione : — how  it 
would  stand  the  test  of  cool  criticism  I  cannot  tell ; 
nor  is  that  any  thing  to  the  purpose  :  these  extem- 
poraneous efiusions  ought  to  be  judged  merely  as 
what  they  are, — not  as  finished  or  correct  poems, 
but  as  wonderful  exercises  of  tenacious  memory, 
ready  wit,  and  that  quickness  of  imagination  which 

can  soar 

"  al  bel  cimento 

Sulle  all  dell'  momento." 

To  return  to  Sestini.  It  may  be  imagined,  that 
on  such  a  subject  as  "  UAmor  della  Patria"  the 
ancient  Roman  worthies  were  not  forgotten,  and 
accordingly,  a  Brutus,  a  Scipio,  a  Fabius,  or  a 
Fabiicms,  figured  in  every  line.  And  surely  on 
DO  occasion  could  they  have  been  more  appropri- 


286 


ately  inlroduced : — in  Rome,  and  when  addressing 
Romans,  who  showed,  by  their  enthusiastic  ap- 
plause, that  though  the  spirit  of  their  forefathers 
may  be  extinct,  their  memory  is  not. 

The  next  subject,  which  formed  a  sort  o? pendant 
to  the  Cenci,  was  the  "  Parricide  of  Tullia"  In 
this  again  his  success  was  complete.  The  stanza  in 
which  TuUia  ordered  her  charioteer  to  "  drive  on," 
was  given  with  such  effect  as  to  electrify  us  :  and  a 
sudden  burst  of  approbation  which  caused  a  mo- 
mentary interruption,  evidently  lent  the  poet  fresh 
spirits  and  animation. 

The  evening  concluded  with  a  lively  burlesque, 
entitled  "  11  Mercato  d'Amore"  which  represented 
Love  as  setting  up  a  shop  to  sell  "  la  ]\Ierc(inzie 
delta  Gioventu."  The  list  of  his  stock  in  trade, 
though  it  could  not  boast  of  much  originality,  wa.^ 
given  with  admirable  wit  and  vivacity.  In  conclu- 
sion, Love  being  threatened  with  a  bankruptcy, 
took  shelter,  as  the  poet  assured  us,  in  the  bright 
eyes  of  the  ladies  present.  This  farewell  compli- 
ment was  prettily  turned,  and  intended,  of  course, 
to  be  general :  but  it  happened,  luckily  for  Sestini, 
that  just  opposite  to  him,  and  fixed  upon  him  at 
the  moment,  were  two  of  the  brightest  eyes  in  the 
world.  "VMiether  he  owed  any  of  his  inspiration 
to  their  beams  I  know  not:  but  the  apropos  of  the 
tompliment  was  seized  immediately,  and  loudly 
applauded  by  the  gentlemen  round  us. 

Sestini  is  a  young  man,  apparently  about  five 


287 


and  tirenty :  of  a  slight  and  delicate  figure,  and  in 
his  whole  appearance,  odd,  wild,  and  picturest^ue. 
He  has  thi;  common  foreign  trick  of  running  his 
fingers  through  his  black  bushy  hair ;  and  accord- 
ingly it  stands  on  end  in  all  directions.  A  pair 
of  immense  whiskers,  equally  black  and  luxuriant, 
meet  at  the  point  of  his  chin,  encirchng  a  visage  of 
most  cadaverous  hue,  and  features  which  might  be 
termed  positively  ugly,  were  it  not  for  the  "  vario 
spirito  ardento,"  which  shines  out  from  his  dark 
eyes,  and  the  fire  and  intelligence  which  light  up 
his  whole  countenance,  till  it  almost  kindles  into 
beauty.  Though  he  afterwards  conversed  with 
apparent  ease,  and  replied  to  the  compliments  of 
the  com])any,  he  was  evidently  much  exhausted  by 
his  exertions.  I  should  fear  that  their  frequent 
repetition,  and  the  effervescence  of  mind,  and 
nervous  excitement  they  cannot  but  occasion,  must 
gradually  wear  out  his  delicate  frame  and  feeble 
temperament,  and  that  the  career  of  this  extraor- 
dinar}'  genius  will  be  short  as  it  is  brilliant.* 

Api'it  8. — As  Maupertuis  said  after  his  journey 
to  Lapland — for  the  universe  I  would  not  have 
missed  the  sights  and  scenes  of  yesterday ;  but,  for 
the  whole  universe,  I  would  not  undergo  such 
another  day  of  fatigue,  anxiety,  and  feverish  ex- 
citement. 

In  th(i  morning  about  ten  o'clock,  we  all  went 
down  to  St.  Peter's  to  hear  high  mass.     The  ab- 

•  Sestini  died  of  a  brain  fever  at  Paris  in  Xovembcr,  1822. — Ed. 


288 


sence  of  the  Pope  (who  is  still  extremely  ill) 
detracted  from  the  interest  and  dignity  of  the  cere- 
mony :  there  was  no  general  benediction  from  the 
balcony  of  St.  Peter's ;  and  nothing  pleased  me, 
except  the  general  coup  d'onil ;  which  in  truth  was 
splendid.  The  theatrical  dresses  of  the  mitred 
priests,  the  countless  multitude  congregated  from 
every  part  of  Christendom,  in  every  variety  of 
national  costume,  the  immensity  and  magnificence 
of  the  church,  and  the  glorious  sunshine — all  these 
enchanted  the  eye ;  but  I  could  have  fancied  my- 
self in  a  theatre.  I  saw  no  devotion,  and  I  felt 
none.  The  whole  appeared  more  lil^e  a  triumphal 
pageant  acted  in  honor  of  a  heathen  deity,  than  an 
act  of  worship  and  thanksgiving  to  the  Great 
Father  of  all. 

I  observed  an  immense  number  of  pilgrims, 
male  and  female,  who  had  come  from  various  parts 
of  Italy  to  visit  the  shrine  of  St.  Peter  on  this 
grand  occasion.  I  longed  to  talk  to  a  man  who 
stood  near  me,  with  a  very  singular  and  expressive 
countenance,  whose  cape  and  looped  hat  were 
entirely  covered  with  scallop  shells  and  reliques, 
and  his  long  staif  surmounted  by  a  death's  head. 

I  was  restrained  by  a  feeUng  which  I  now  think 
ratlier  ridiculous :  I  feared,  lest  by  conversing  with 
him,  I  should  diminish  the  effect  his  romantic  and 
picturesque  figure  had  made  on  my  imagination. 

The  exposition  of  the  relics,  was  from  a  balcony 
half  way  up  the  dome,  so  high  and  distant  that  I 


289 


could  distinguisli  nothing  but  the  impression  of  our 
Saviour's  face  on  the  handkerchief  of  St.  Veronica, 
richly  framed — at  the  sight  whereof  the  whole 
multitude  prostrated  themselves  to  the  earth :  the 
other  relics  I  forget,  but  they  were  all  equally 
marvellous  and  equally  credible. 

We  returned  after  a  long  fatiguing  morning  to 
an  early  dinner;  and  then  drove  again  to  the 
Piazza  of  St.  Peter's,  to  see  the  far-famed  illumina- 
tion of  the  church.  We  had  to  wait  a  considerable 
time ;  but  the  scene  was  so  novel  and  beautiful, 
that  I  found  ample  amusement  in  my  own  thoughts 
and  observations.  The  twilight  rapidly  closed 
round  us  :  the  long  lines  of  statues  along  the  roof 
and  balustrades,  faintly  defined  against  the  evening 
sky,  looked  like  spirits  come  down  to  gaze ;  a  pro- 
digious crowd  of  carriages,  and  people  on  foot, 
filled  every  avenue :  but  all  was  still,  except  when 
a  half-suppressed  murmur  of  impatience  broke 
through  the  hushed  silence  of  suspense  and  ex- 
pectation. At  length,  on  a  signal,  which  was 
given  by  the  firing  of  a  cannon,  the  whole  of  the 
immense  fa9ade  and  dome,  even  up  to  the  cross  on 
the  summit,  and  the  semicii'cular  colonnades  in 
front,  burst  into  a  blaze,  as  if  at  the  touch  of  an 
enchanter's  wand ;  adding  the  pleasure  of  surprise 
to  that  of  delight  and  admiration.  The  carriagea 
now  began  to  drive  rapidly  round  the  piazza,  each 
with  a  train  of  running  footmen,  flinging  their 
torches  round  and  dashing  them  against  the  ground. 
19 


290  ROME. 

Tbo  shouts  and  acclamations  of  the  crowd,  the 
stupendous  building  with  all  its  architectural  out- 
lines and  projections,  defined  in  lines  of  living 
flame,  the  universal  light,  the  sparkling  of  the 
magnificent  fountains — produced  an  effect  far 
beyond  any  thing  I  could  have  anticipated,  and 
more  like  the  gorgeous  fictions  of  the  Arabian 
Nights,  than  any  earthly  reality. 

After  driving  round  the  piazza,  we  adjourned  to 
a  balcony  which  had  been  hired  for  us  overlooking 
the  Tiber,  and  exactly  opposite  to  the  Castle  of  St. 
Angelo.  Hence  we  commanded  a  view  of  the  fire- 
works, which  were  truly  superb,  but  made  me  so 
nervous  and  giddy  with  noise  and  light  and  wonder, 
that  I  was  rejoiced  when  all  was  over.  A  flight  of 
a  thousand  sky-rockets  sent  up  at  once,  blotting 
the  stars  and  the  moonlight — dazzling  our  eyes, 
stunning  our  ears,  and  amazing  all  our  senses 
together,  concluded  the  Holy  Week  at  Rome. 

To-morrow  morning  we  start  for  Florence,  and 
to-night  I  close  this  second  volume  of  my  Diary. 
Thanks  to  my  little  ingenious  Frenchman  in  the 
Via  Santa  Croce,  I  have  procured  a  lock  for  a 
third  volume,  almost  equal  to  my  patent  Bramah 
in  point  of  security,  though  very  unlike  it  in  every 
Other  respect. 

«  •  »  «  • 


riTERBO.  291 


RETUEN   TO    FLORENCE. 

Viterbo,  April  9. 

"  In  every  bosom  Italy  is  the  second  country  in  the 
world,  the  surest  proof  that  it  is  in  reality  thajirst.'* 

This  elegant  and  just  observation  occurs,  I 
think,  in  Arthur  Young's  Travels ;  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  quote  the  words  correctly,  but  the  sense  will 
come  home  to  every  cultivated  mind  with  the  force 
of  a  proverbial  truism. 

One  leaves  Naples  as  a  man  jjarts  with  an  en- 
chanting mistress,  and  Rome  as  we  would  bid 
adieu  to  an  old  and  dear-loved  friend.  I  love  it, 
and  grieve  to  leave  it  for  its  own  sake :  it  is  painful 
to  quit  a  place  where  we  leave  behind  us  many 
whom  we  love  and  regret ;  and  almost  or  quite  a3  ' 
painful,  I  think,  to  quit  a  place  in  which  we  leave 
Dehind  us  no  one  to  regi'et,  or  think  of  us  more ; — - 
a  feeling  like  this  mingled  vnih.  the  sorrow  with 
which  I  bade  adieu  to  Rome  this  morning. 

Our  journey  has  been  fatiguing,  triste  and  tedious. 
***** 

Radicofani,  10th. 

1  could  almost  regret  at  this  moment  that  I  am 

past  the  age  of  romance,  for  I  am  in  a  fine  situation 

for  mysterious  and  imaginary  horrors,  could  I  but 

feel  again  as  I  did  at  gay  sixteen :  but,  alas !  ee.* 


292  RADICOFAiia. 

oeaux  jours  sont  passes !  and  here  I  am  on  the 
top  of  a  dreary  black  mountain,  in  a  rambling  old 
inn  which  looks  like  a  ci-devant  hospital  or  dis- 
mantled barracks,  in  a  bedroom  which  resembles 
one  of  the  wards  of  a  poorhouse,  one  little  corner 
lighted  by  my  lamp,  and  the  other  three  parts  all 
lost  in  black  ominous  darkness;  wliile  a  tempest 
rages  without  as  if  it  would  break  in  the  rattling 
casements,  and  burst  the  roof  over  our  heads ;  and 
yet,  insensible  that  I  am !  I  can  calmly  take  up  my 
pen  to  amuse  myself  by  scribbling,  since  sleep  ia 
impossible.  I  can  look  round  my  vast  and  solitary 
room  without  fancpng  a  ghost  or  an  assassin  in 
every  corner,  and  listen  to  the  raving  and  lament- 
ing of  the  storm,  without  imagining  I  hear  in  every 
gust  the  shrieks  of  wailing  spirits,  or  the  groans  of 
murdered  travellers;  only  wishing  that  the  wind 
were  rather  less  cold,  or  my  fire  a  little  brighter, 
or  my  dormitory  less  infinitely  spacious ;  for  at 
present  its  boundaries  are  invisible. 

The  first  part  of  our  journey  this  morning  was 
delightful  and  picturesque :  we  passed  the  beauti- 
ful lake  of  Bolsena,  and  Montepulciano,  so  famous 
for  its  wine,  {il  Re  di  Vino,  as  Redi  calls  it  in  the 
Bacco  in  Toscnna.)  Later  in  the  day  we  entered 
a  gloomy  and  desolate  country ;  and  after  crossing 
the  rapid  and  muddy  torrent  of  Rigo,  which,  as 
our  Guide  des  Voyageurs  wittily  inibrms  us,  we 
shall  have  to  cross /o?ir  times  if  we  are  not  drowned 
the  third  time,  we  began  to  ascend  the  mountainous 


FLORENCE.  29S 

region  which  divides  the  Tuscan  from  the  RDman 
states — -a  succession  of  wild  barren  hills,  intersected 
in  every  direction  by  deep  ravines,  and  presenting 
a  scene,  sublime  indeed  from  its  waste  and  wild 
grandeur,  but  destitute  of  all  beauty,  interest, 
magnificence,  and  variety. 

I  remember  the  strange  emotion  wliich  came 
across  me,  when — on  the  hoi-ses  stopping  to  breathe 
on  the  summit  of  a  lofty  ridge,  where  all  around, 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  but  the  same  unvarying,  miserable,  heart- 
sinking  barrenness,  without  a  trace  of  human 
habitation,  except  the  black  fort  or  the  highest 
point  of  Radicofani — a  soft  sound  of  bells  came 
over  my  ear  as  if  brought  upon  the  wind.  There 
is  something  in  the  sound  of  bells  in  the  midst  of  a 
solitude  which  is  singularly  striking,  and  may  be 
cheering  or  melancholy,  according  to  the  mood  in 
which  we  may  happen  to  be. 

***** 

Florence,  April  14. 

1  have  not  written  a  word  since  we  arrived  at 
Sienna.  "What  would  it  avail  to  me  to  keep  a 
mere  journal  of  suffering  ?  O  that  I  could  change 
as  others  do,  could  forget  that  such  things  have 
been  which  can  never  be  again  !  that  there  were 
not  this  tenacity  in  my  heart  and  soul  which  clings 
to  the  shadow  though  the  substance  be  gone ! 

This  is  not  a  mere  effusion  of  low  spirits,  I  was 
never  more  cheerful ;  I  have  just  left  a  gay  party, 


294  FLORENCE. 

where  ]Mr.  Rogers  (whom  by  special  good  fortune 
■we  meet  at  every  resting-place,  and  who  dined 
with  us  to-day)  has  been  entertaining  us  delight- 
fally.  I  disdain  low  spirits  as  a  mere  disease 
which  comes  over  us,  generally  from  some  physical 
or  external  cause ;  to  prescribe  for  them  is  as  easy 
as  to  disguise  them  is  difficult:  but  the  hopeless, 
cureless  sadness  of  a  heart  which  droops  with 
regret,  and'  throbs  with  resentment,  is  easily,  very 
easily  disguised,  but  not  so  easily  banished.  I  hear 
every  body  round  me  congratulating  themselves, 
and  me  more  particularly,  that  we  have  at  last 
reached  Florence,  that  we  are  so  far  advanced  on 
our  road  homewards,  that  soon  we  shall  be  at 
Paris,  and  Paris  is  to  do  wonders — Paris  and 
Dr.  R  *  *  are  to  set  me  up  again,  as  the  phrase  is. 
But  I  shall  never  be  set  up  again,  I  shall  never 
live  to  reach  Paris  :  none  can  tell  how  I  sicken  at 
the  very  name  of  that  detested  place  ;  none  seem 
aware  how  fast,  how  very  fast  the  principle  of  life 
is  burning  away  within  me  :  but  why  should  I 
speak  ?  and  what  earthly  help  can  now  avail  me  ? 
I  can  suffer  in  silence,  I  can  conceal  the  weakness 
which  increases  upon  me,  by  retiring,  as  if  from 
choice  and  not  necessity,  from  all  exertion  not 
absolutely  inevitable  ;  and  the  change  is  so  gradual, 
none  will  perceive  it  till  the  great  change  of  all 
comes,  and  then  I  shall  be  at  rest. 

***** 
Florence  looked  most  beautiful  as  we  approached 


FLORENCE.  295 

it  h'oni  the  south,  girt  Avith  her  theatre  of  verdant 
hills,  ami  glittering  in  the  sunshine.  All  the 
country  from  Sienna  to  Florence  is  richly  culti- 
vated;  diversified  with  neat  hamlets,  farms,  and 
villas.  I  was  more  struck  with  the  appearance  of 
the  Tuscan  peasantry  on  my  return  from  the 
Papal  dominions  than  when  we  passed  through  the 
country  before :  nowhere  in  Tuscany  have  we 
seen  that  look  of  abject  negligent  poverty,  those 
crowds  of  squalid  beggars  which  shocked  us  in  the 
Ecclesiastical  States.  In  the  towns  where  we 
stopped  to  change  horses,  we  were  presently  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd  of  people  :  the  women  came 
out  spinning,  or  sewing  and  plaiting  the  Leghorn 
hats  ;  the  children  threw  flowers  into  our  barouche, 
the  men  grinned  and  gaped,  but  there  was  no 
vociferous  begging,  no  disgusting  display  of  phys- 
ical evils,  filth,  and  wretchedness.  The  motive 
was  merely  that  idle  curiosity  for  which  the  Floren- 
tines in  all  ages  have  been  remarked.  I  remember 
an  amusing  instance  which  occurred  when  I  was 
here  in  December  last.  I  was  standing  one  evening 
in  the  Piazza  del  Gran  Duca,  looking  at  the  group 
of  the  Rape  of  the  Sabines :  in  a  few  minutes  a 
dozen  people  gathered  round  me,  gaping  at  the 
statue,  and  staring  at  that  and  at  me  alternately, 
either  to  enjoy  my  admiration,  or  find  out  the 
"ause  of  it :  the  people  came  out  of  the  neighbour- 
ing shops,  and  the  crowd  continued  to  increase, 
till  at  length,  though  infinitely  amused,  I  was  glad 
to  make  my  escape. 


296  FLORENCE. 

I  suffered  from  cold  when  first  we  arrived  at 
Florence,  owing  to  the  change  of  climate,  or  rather 
to  mere  weakness  and  fatigue :  to-day  I  begin  to 
doubt  the  possibility  of  outliving  an  Italian  summer. 
This  blazing  atmosphere  which  depresses  the  eye- 
lids, the  enervating  heat,  and  the  rich  perfume  of 
the  fiowei-s  all  around  us,  are  almost  too  much. 

April  20. — During  our  stay  at  Florence,  it  has 
been  one  of  my  favorite  occupations  to  go  to  the 
Gallery  or  the  Pitti  Palace,  and  placing  my 
portable  seat  opposite  to  some  favorite  pictures, 
minutely  study  and  compare  the  styles  of  the  dif- 
ferent masters.  By  the  style  of  any  particular 
painter,  I  presume  we  mean. to  express  the  combi- 
nation of  two  separate  essentials — first,  his  peculiar 
conception  of  his  subject;  secondly,  his  peculiar 
method  of  executing  that  conception,  with  regard 
to  coloring,  drawing,  and  what  artists  call  hand- 
ling. The  fonner  department  of  style  lies  in  the 
mind,  and  will  vary  according  to  the  feelings,  the 
temper,  the  personal  habits,  and  previous  education 
of  the  painter:  the  latter  is  merely  mechanical, 
and  is  technically  termed  the  manner  of  a  painter; 
it  may  be  cold  or  warm,  hard,  dry,  free,  strong, 
tender :  as  we  say  the  cold  manner  of  Sasso  Fe^ 
rato,  the  warm  manner  of  Giorgione,  the  hard 
manner  of  Holbein,  the  dry  manner  of  Perugino, 
the  free  manner  of  Rubens,  the  strong  manner  of 
Carravaggio,  and  so  forth ;  I  heard  an  amateur 
once  observe,  that  one  of  Morland's  Pigsties  was 


FLORENCE.  297 

painted  with  great  feeling :  all  this  refers  merely 
to  mechanical  execution. 

I  am  no  connoisseur ;  and  I  should  have  lamented 
as  a  misfortune,  the  want  of  some  fixed  principles 
of  taste  and  criticism  to  guide  my  judgment ;  some 
nomenclature  by  which  to  express  certain  efl'ects, 
peculiarities,  and  excellences  which  I  felt,  rather 
than  understood ;  if  my  own  ignorance  had  not 
afforded  considerable  amusement  to  myself,  and 
perhaps  to  others.  I  have  derived  some  gratifica- 
tion from  observing  the  gradual  improvement  of 
my  own  taste :  and  from  comparing  the  decis- 
ions of  my  own  unassisted  judgment  and  natural 
feelings,  with  the  fiat  of  profound  critics  and 
connoisseurs  :  the  result  has  been  sometimes 
mortif}-ing,  sometimes  pleasing.  Had  I  visited 
Italy  in  the  character  of  a  ready-made  con- 
noisseur, I  should  have  lost  many  pleasures ; 
for  as  the  eye  becomes  more  practised,  the  taste 
becomes  more  discriminative  and  fastidious  ;  and 
the  more  extensive  our  acquaintance  with  the 
works  of  art,  the  more  limited  is  our  sphere  of 
admiration ;  as  if  the  cii'cle  of  enjoyment  con- 
tracted round  us,  in  proportion  as  our  sense  of 
beauty  became  more  intense  and  exquisite.  A 
thousand  things  which  once  had  power  to  charm, 
can  charm  no  longer;  but,  en  revanche,  those  whi(h 
do  please,  please  a  thousand  times  more  :  thus  what 
we  lose  on  one  side,  we  gain  on  the  other.  Per- 
haps, on  the  whole,  a  technical  knowledge  of  the 


298  FLORENCE. 

arts  is  apt  to  divert  the  mind  from  the  general 
effect,  to  fix  it  on  petty  details  of  execution.  Here 
comes  a  connoisseur,  who  has  found  his  "way,  good 
man !  from  Somerset  House  to  the  Tribune  at 
Florence :  see  him  with  one  hand  passed  across 
his  brow,  to  shade  the  Hght,  while  the  other 
extended  forwards,  describes  certain  indescribable 
cii'cumvolutions  in  the  air,  and  now  he  retires,  now 
advances,  now  recedes  again,  till  he  has  hit  the 
exact  distance  from  which  every  point  of  beauty 
is  displayed  to  the  best  possible  advantage,  and 
there  he  stands — ^gazing,  as  never  gazed  the  moon 
upon  the  waters,  or  love-sick  maiden  upon  the 
moon  !  We  take  him  perhaps  for  another  Pygma- 
lion ?  We  imagine  that  it  is  those  parted  and  half- 
breathing  lips,  those  eyes  that  seem  to  float  in  light ; 
the  pictured  majesty  of  suffering  virtue,  or  the  tears 
of  repenting  loveliness ;  the  divinity  of  beauty,  or 
"<Ae  beauty  of  holiness  "  which  have  thus  transfixed 
him  ?  No  such  thing :  it  is  the  fleshiness  of  the 
tints,  the  vaghezza  of  the  coloring,  the  brilliance  of 
the  carnations,  the  fold  of  a  robe,  or  the  fore- 
shortening of  a  Uttle  finger.  O !  whip  me  such 
connoisseurs !  the  critic's  stop-watch  was  nothing 
to  this. 

Mere  mechanical  excellence,  and  all  the  tricka 
ot  art  have  their  praise  as  long  as  they  are  sub- 
ordinate and  conduce  to  the  general  effect.     I& 
painting,  as  in  her  sister  arts,  it  is  necessary 
Che  I'arte  che  tutto  fa  nulla  si  scuopre. 


FLOREXCE.  299 

Of  course,  I  do  not  speak  here  of  the  'Dutch 
Bchool,  whose  highest  aim,  and  highest  praise,  is 
exquisite  mechanical  precision  in  the  representa- 
tion of  common  nature  and  still  life ;  but  of  those 
pictures  which  are  the  productions  of  mind,  which 
address  themselves  to  the  understanding,  the  fancy, 
the  feelings,  and  convey  either  a  moral  or  a  poet- 
ical pleasure. 

In  taking  a  retrospective  view  of  all  the  best 
collections  in  Italy  and  of  the  Italian  school  in 
particular,  I  have  been  struck  by  the  endless 
multiplication  of  the  same  subjects — crucifixions, 
martyrdoms,  and  other  scripture  horrors ; — virgins, 
saints,  and  holy  famiUes.  The  prevalence  of  the 
former  class  of  subjects  is  easily  explained,  and 
has  been  ingeniously  defended ;  but  it  is  not  so 
easily  reconciled  to  the  imagination.  The  mind 
and  the  eye  are  shocked  aud  fatigued  by  the 
succession  of  revolting  and  sanguinary  images 
which  pollute  the  walls  of  every  palace,  church, 
gallery,  and  academy,  from  oMilau  to  Naples.  The 
splendor  of  the  execution  only  adds  to  their 
hideousness ;  we  at  once  seek  for  nature,  and 
tremble  to  find  it  It  is  hateful  to  see  the  loveliest 
of  the  arts  degi'aded  to  such  butcher-work.  I  have 
often  gone  to  visit  a  famed  collection  with  a  secret 
dread  of  being  led  through  a  sort  of  intellectual 
shambles,  and  returned  with  the  feeling  of  one 
who  had  supped  fuU  of  horrors.  I  do  not  know 
how  men  think,  and  feel,  though  I  believe  many  a 


300  FLORENCE. 

man,  wlio  with  every  other  feeling  absorbea  in 
ovei'powering  interest,  could  look  unshrinking  upon 
a  real  scene  of  cruelty  and  blood,  would  shrink 
away  disgusted  and  sickened  from  the  cold,  obtru- 
sive, painted  representation  of  the  same  object ; 
for  the  truth  of  this  I  appeal  to  men.  I  can  only 
see  with  woman's  eyes,  and  think  and  feel  as  I 
believe  every  woman  must,  whatever  may  be  her 
love  for  the  arts.  I  remember  that  in  one  of  the 
palaces  at  INIilan — (I  think  it  was  in  the  collection 
of  the  Duca  Litti) — we  were  led  up  to  a  picture 
defended  fi-om  the  air  by  a  plate  of  glass,  and 
which  being  considered  as  the  gem  of  the  collec- 
tion, was  reserved  for  the  last  as  a  kind  of  bonne 
bouche.  I  gave  but  one  glance,  and  turned  away 
loathing,  shuddering,  sickening.  The  cicerone 
looked  amazed  at  my  bad  taste ;  he  assured  me  it 
was  un  vero  Corregio,  (which  by  the  way  I  can 
never  believe,)  and  that  the  duke  had  refused  for 
it  I  know  not  how  many  thousand  scudi.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  say  what  was  most  execrable  in  this 
picture,  the  appalling  nature  of  the  subject,  the 
depravity  of  mind  evinced  In  Its  conception,  or 
the  horrible  truth  and  skill  with  which  It  was 
delineated.  I  ought  to  add  that  It  was  hung  in 
the  family  dining-room  and  in  fuU  view  of  the 
dinner-table. 

There  is  a  picture  among  the  chefs-d'iEuvres  in 
the  Vatican,  which,  if  I  were  Pope  (or  Pope  Joan) 
for  a  single  day,  should  be  burnt  by  the  common 


FLORENCE.  801 

hangman,  "  with  the  smoke  of  its  ashes  to  poison 
the  air,"  as  it  now  poisons  the  sight  by  its  unutter- 
able horrors.  There  is  another  in  the  Palazzo 
PittI,  at  -which  I  shiver  still,  and  unfortunately 
there  is  no  avoiding  it,  as  they  have  hung  it  close 
to  Guido's  lovely  Cleopatra.  In  the  gallery  there 
is  a  Judith  and  Holofcrnes  which  irresistibly  strikes 
the  attention — if  any  tiling  would  add  to  the  horror 
inspired  by  the  sanguinary  subject,  and  the  atro- 
cious fidelity  and  talent  with  which  it  is  expressed, 
it  is  that  the  artist  was  a  looman*  I  must  confess 
that  Judith  is  not  one  of  my  favorite  heroines ;  but 
I  can  more  easily  conceive  how  a  woman  inspired 
by  vengeance  and  patriotism  could  execute  such  a 
deed,  than  that  she  could  coolly  sit  down,  and  day 
after  day,  hour  after  hour,  touch  after  touch,  dwell 
upon  and  ahnost  realize  to  the  eye  such  an  abomi- 
nation as  this. 

We  can  study  anatomy,  if  (like  a  certain  prin- 
cess) we  have  a  taste  that  way,  in  the  surgeons' 
dissecting-rooms  ;  we  do  not  look  upon  pictures  to 
have  our  minds  agonized  and  contaminated  by  the 
sight  of  human  turpitude  and  barbarity,  streaming 
blood,  quivering  flesh,  wounds,  tortures,  death,  and 
horrors  in  every  shape,  even  though  it  should  be 
all  very  natural.  Painting  has  been  called  the 
handmaid  of  nature  ;  is  it  not  the  duty  of  a  hand- 
maid to  array  her  mistress   to   the  best   pofsible 

*  Artemisia  Gentileschi.     She  died  in  1662. 


302  FLORENCS. 

advantage  ?  At  least  to  keep  her  infiiinities  and 
defomiities  from  view,  and  not  to  expose  her  too 
undressed  ? 

But  I  am  not  so  weak,  so  cowardly,  so  fastidious, 
as  to  shrink  from  every  representation  of  human 
sufl'ering,  provided  that  our  sympathy  be  not  strained 
beyond  a  certain  point.  To  please  is  the  genuine 
aim  of  painting,  as  of  all  the  fine  arts  ;  when  pleas- 
ure is  conveyed  through  deeply  excited  interest,  by 
affecting  the  passions,  the  senses,  and  the  imagina- 
tion, painting  assumes  a  higher  character,  and  al- 
most vies  with  tragedy :  in  fact,  it  is  tragedy  to  the 
eye,  and  is  amenable  to  the  same  laws.  The  St 
Sebastians  of  Guido  and  Razzi;  the  St.  Jerome  of 
Domenichino ;  the  sternly  beautiful  Judith  of  Al- 
lori ;  the  Pietli  of  Kaffaelle ;  the  San  Pietro  Mar- 
tire  of  Titian  ;  are  all  so  many  tragic  scenes,  where- 
in whatever  is  revolting  in  circumstances  or  char- 
acter is  judiciously  kept  from  view,  where  human 
suffering  is  dignified  by  the  moral  lesson  it  is  made 
to  convey,  and  its  effect  on  the  beholder  at  once 
softened  and  heightened  by  the  redeeming  grace 
■which  genius  and  poetry  have  shed  like  a  glory 
round  it. 

Allowing  all  this,  I  am  yet  obliged  to  confess  that 
I  am  wearied  with  this  class  of  pictures,  and  that  I 
wish  there  were  fewer  of  them. 

But  there  is  one  subject  which  never  tires,  at 
least  never  tires  me,  however  varied,  repeated,  mul- 
tiplied.    A  subject  so  lovely  in  itself  that  the  most 


FLORENCE.  303 

eminent  painter  cannot  easily  embellish  it,  or  tLe 
meanest  degrade  it ;  a  subject  which  comes  home 
to  our  own  bosoms  and  dearest  feelings ;  in  which 
■we  may  "  lose  oui-selves  in  all  dehghtfulness  "  and 
indulge  unreproved  pleasure.  I  mecin  the  Virgin 
and  Child,  or  in  other  words,  the  abstract  personi- 
fication of  what  is  loveUest,  purest,  and  dearest, 
under  heaven — maternal  tenderness,  virgin  meek- 
ness, and  cluldish  innocence,  and  the  beaut)/  of  holi- 
ness over  all. 

It  occurred  to  me  to-day,  that  if  a  gallery  could 
be  formed  of  this  subject  alone,  selecting  one  speci- 
men from  among  the  works  of  ever}'  painter,  it 
would  form  not  only  a  comparative  index  to  their 
different  styles,  but  Ave  should  find,  on  recurring  to 
what  is  known  of  the  lives  and  characters  of  the 
great  masters,  that  each  has  stamped  some  pecu- 
liarity of  his  own  disposition  on  his  Vii'gins  ;  and 
that,  after  a  httle  consideration  and  practice,  a  very 
fair  guess  might  be  formed  of  the  character  of  each 
artist,  by  obser\-Ing  the  style  in  which  he  has  treat- 
ed this  beautiful  and  favorite  subject. 

Take  Rafiaelle,  for  example,  whose  dellghtfiil 
character  is  dwelt  upon  by  all  his  biographers ;  his 
genuine  nobleness  of  soul,  which  raised  him  far 
above  interest,  rivalship,  or  jealousy;  the  gentl<^ 
ness  of  his  temper,  the  sua\ity  of  his  manners,  tlie 
sweetness  of  his  disposition,  the  benevolence  of  hia 
heart,  which  rendered  him  so  deeply  loved  and  ad- 
mired, even  by  those  who  pined  away  at  his  sue- 


S04  FLOUENCa. 

cess,  and  died  of  his  superiority* — are  all  attested 
by  contemporary  writers :  where,  but  In  his  own 
harmonious  chai'acter.  need  RafFaelle  have  looked 
lor  the  prototypes  of  his  half-celestial  creations  ? 

His  Virgins  alone  combine  every  grace  which 
the  imagination  can  require— repose,  simpUcity 
meekness,  purity,  tenderness  ;  blended  without  any 
admixture  of  earthly  passion,  yet  so  varied,  that 
though  all  his  Virgins  have  a  general  character, 
distinguishing  them  from  tliose  of  every  other  mas- 
ter, no  two  are  exactly  alike.  In  the  Madonna  del 
Seggiola,  for  instance,  the  prevailing  expression  is 
a  serious  and  pensive  tenderness  ;  her  eyes  are 
turned  from  her  infant,  but  she  clasps  him  to  her 
bosom,  as  if  It  were  not  necessary  to  see  him,  to 
feel  him  in  her  heart.  In  another  Holy  Family,  in 
the  Pitti  Palace,  the  predominant  expression  is  ma- 
ternal rapture  :  in  the  Madonna  dl  Foligno,  it  is  a 
saintly  benignity  becoming  the  Queen  of  Heaven  : 
in  the  Madonna  del  Cardellino,  it  is  a  meek  and 
chaste  simplicity  :  it  is  the  "  Vergine  dolce  e  pia " 
of  Petrarch.  This  last  picture  hangs  close  to  the 
Fornarina   In   the  Tribune, — a   strange   contrast! 

*  The  allusion  is  to  La  Francia.  When  Raffaelle  sent  his  famous 
St.  Cecilia  to  Bologna,  it  was  intrusted  to  the  care  of  La  Francia, 
who  was  his  particular  friend,  to  be  unpacked  and  hung  up.  La 
Francia  was  old,  and  had  for  many  years  held  a  high  rank  in  his 
profession ;  no  sooner  had  he  cast  his  eyes  on  the  St.  Cecilia,  than 
struck  witli  despair  at  seeing  his  highest  efforts  so  immeasurably 
outdone,  he  was  seized  with  a  deep  melancholy,  and  died  shortly 
after; — at  least  so  runs  the  tale. 


FLORENCE.  305 

Kaffaelle's  love  for  that  haughty  and  voluptuous 
virago,  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  conception  of 
ideal  beauty  and  chastity ;  and  could  one  of  his  own 
Virgins  have  walked  out  of  her  frame,  or  if  her 
prototype  could  have  been  found  on  earth,  he  would 
have  felt,  as  others  have  felt — that  to  look  upon 
Buch  a  being  with  aught  of  unholy  passion,  would 
be  profanation  indeed. 

Next  to  RafFaelle,  I  would  rank  Correggio,  as  a 
painter  of  Virgins.  Correggio  was  remarkable  for 
the  humility  and  gentleness  of  his  depoi'tment,  for 
his  pensive  and  somewhat  anxious  disposition,  and 
kindl}'  domestic  feehngs :  these  are  the  characteris- 
tics which  have  poured  themselves  forth  upon  his 
Madonnas.  They  are  distinguished  generally  by 
the  utmost  sweetness,  delicacy,  grace,  and  devo- 
tional feeUng.  I  remember  reading  somewhere 
that  Correggio  had  a  large  family,  and  was  a  par- 
ticularly fond  father ;  and  it  is  certain,  that  in  the 
expression  of  maternal  tenderness,  he  is  superior 
to  all  but  Raffaelki :  his  Holy  Family  in  the  Studii 
at  Naples,  and  his  lovely  Virgin  in  the  gallery,  are 
instances. 

Guido  ranks  next  in  my  estimation,  as  a  painter 
of  Virgins.  He  is  desci-ibed  as  an  elegant  and  ac- 
complished man,  remarkable  for  the  modesty  of  his 
disposition,  and  the  dignity  and  grace  of  his  man- 
ner ;  as  delicate  in  his  personal  habits,  and  sump- 
tuous in  his  dress  and  style  of  living.  He  had 
unfortunately  contracted  a  taste  for  gaming,  which 
20 


306  FLORENCE. 

latterly  plunged  him  into  difficulties,  and  tinged  lu9 
mind  with  bitterness  and  melancholy.  All  his  heads 
have  a  peculiar  expression  of  elevated  beauty,  which 
has  been  called  Guido's  air.  His  IMadonnas  are  all 
but  heavenly :  they  are  tender,  dignified,  lovely — 
but  when  compared  with  Raffaelle's,  they  seem 
more  touched  with  earthly  feeling,  and  have  less  of 
the  pure  ideal :  they  are,  if  I  may  so  express  my- 
self, too  sentimental:  sentiment  is,  in  truth,  the  dis- 
tinguishing characteristic  of  Guido's  style.  It  is 
remarkable,  that  towards  the  end  of  his  life,  Guido 
more  frequently  painted  the  Mater  Dolorosa,  and 
gave  to  the  heads  of  his  Madonnas  a  look  of 
melancholy,  disconsolate  resignation,  which  is  ex- 
tremely affecting. 

Titian's  character  is  well  known :  his  ardent 
cheerful  temper,  his  sanguine  enthusiastic  mind, 
his  love  of  pleasure,  his  love  of  women  ;  and  true 
it  is,  that  through  all  his  glo\ving  pictures,  we  trace 
the  voluptuary.  His  Virgins  are  rather  "  Des 
jeunes  ipouses  de  la  veille " — far  too  like  his 
Veuuses  and  his  mistresses :  they  are  all  luxuriant 
human  beauty ;  with  that  peculiar  air  of  blandish- 
ment which  he  has  thrown  into  all  his  female  heads, 
even  into  his  portraits,  and  his  old  women.  Wit- 
ness his  lovely  Virgin  in  the  Vatican,  his  INIater 
Sapientias,  and  his  celebrated  Assumption  at  Venice, 
in  which  the  eyes  absolutely  float  in  rapture.  There 
is  notliing  ideal  in  Titian's  conception  of  beauty : 
Ue  paints  no  saints  and  goddesses  fancy-bred :  his 


FLOltEXCE.  307 

females  are  all  true,  lovely  ■women ;  no+  like  the 
heavenly  creations  of  Raffaelle,  lookino^  as  if  a 
touch,  a  breath  would  profane  them ;  but  warm 
flesh  and  blood — heart  and  soul — with  life  in  their 
eyes,  and  love  upon  their  lips :  even  over  his  Mag- 
dalenes,  his  beauty-breathing  pencil  has  shed  a 
something  which  says, 

A  misura  che  amo — 
Piange  i  suoi  falli ! 

But  this  is  strapng  from  my  subject ;  as  I  have 
embarked  in  this  fanciful  hj'pothesis,  I  shall  multi- 
ply my  proofs  and  examples  as  far  as  I  can,  from 
memory. 

In  some  account  I  have  read  of  j\Iurillo,  he  is 
emphatically  styled  an  honest  man  :  this  is  all  I  can 
remember  of  his  character ;  and  (ruth  and  nature 
prevail  through  all  his  pictures.  In  his  Virgins, 
we  can  trace  nothing  elevated,  poetical,  or  heav- 
enly :  they  have  not  the  ideality  of  Raffaelle's,  nor 
the  tender  sweetness  of  Correggio's ;  nor  the  glow- 
ing loveliness  of  Titian's ;  but  they  have  an  indi- 
vidual reality  about  them,  which  gives  them  the  air 
of  portraits.  That  chef-d'cEuvre,  in  the  Pitti  Palace, 
for  instance,  call  it  a  beautiful  peasant  girl  and  her 
baby,  and  it  is  faultless  :  but  when  I  am  told  it  is 
the  "  Vergine  gloriosa,  del  Re  Eterno  Madre,  Figli' 
uola,  e  Sposa,"  I  look  instantly  for  something  far 
beyond  what  I  see  expressed.  All  ]\Iurillo's  Vir- 
gins are  so  different  from  each  othi  •,  '.hat  it  is  plain 


SOS  FLORENCE. 

the  arti.-'t  did  not  paint  from  any  preconceived  idea 
in  his  own  mind,  but  from  different  originals  :  they 
are  all  impressed  with  that  general  air  of  truth, 
nature,  and  common  life,  which  stamps  ujion  them 
a  peculiar  and  distinct  character. 

Andrea  del  Sarto,  who  is  in  style  as  in  character 
the  very  reverse  of  Murillo,  fascinated  me  at  first 
by  his  enchanting  coloring,  and  the  magical  aerial 
depths  of  his  chiaro-oscuro ;  but  on  a  further  ac- 
(juaiutance  with  his  woi-ks,  I  was  struck  by  the 
predominance  of  external  form  and  color  ovei 
mind  and  feeling.  His  Virgins  look  as  if  they  had 
been  born  and  bred  in  the  first  circles  of  society, 
and  have  a  particular  air  of  elegance,  an  artificial 
grace,  an  attraction,  which  may  be  entirely  traced 
to  exterior ;  to  the  cast  of  the  features,  the  contour 
of  the  form,  the  disposition  of  the  draperies,  the 
striking  attitudes,  and,  above  all,  the  divine  color- 
ing: beauty  and  dignity,  and  powerful  effect,  we 
always  find  in  his  pictures  :  but  no  moral  pathos — 
no  poetry — no  sentiment — above  all,  a  strange  and 
total  want  of  devotional  expression,  simpUcity,  and 
humility.  His  Virgin  with  St.  Francis  and  St, 
John,  which  hangs  behind  the  Venus  in  the  Tri- 
bunes, is  a  wonderful  picture ;  and  there  are  two 
charming  JNIadonnas  in  the  Borghese  Palace  at 
Rome.  In  the  first,  we  are  struck  by  the  grouping 
and  coloring;  in  the  last,  by  a  certain  graceful 
lenglhiness  of  the  limbs,  and  fine  animated  drawing 
in  the  attitudes.     But  we  look  In  vain  for  the  "  sa- 


r  LOREXCE.  309 

cred  and  tlie  sweet,"  for  heart,  for  soul,  for  coui> 
tenance. 

Andrea  del  Sarto  had,  in  his  profession,  great 
talents  rather  than  genius  and  enthusiasm.  He 
was  weak,  dissipated,  unprincipled ;  without  eleva- 
tion of  niind  or  generosity  of  temper ;  and  that  hia 
moral  character  was  utterly  contemptible,  is  proved 
by  one  trait  in  his  life.  A  generous  patron  who 
had  relieved  him  in  his  necessity,  afterwards  en- 
trusted him  with  a  considerable  sum  of  money,  to 
be  laid  out  in  certain  purchases ;  Andrea  del  Sarto 
perfidiously  embezzled  the  whole,  and  turned  it  to 
his  own  use.  This  story  is  told  in  his  life,  with  the 
addition  that  "  he  was  persuaded  to  it  by  liis  wife, 
as  profligate  and  extravagant  as  himself." 

Carlo  Dolce's  gentle,  delicate,  and  melancholy 
temperament,  are  strongly  expressed  in  his  own 
portrait,  which  is  in  the  Gallerj'  of  Paintings  here. 
All  his  pictures  are  tinged  by  the  morbid  delicacy 
of  his  constitution,  and  the  refinement  of  his  char- 
acter and  habits.  They  have  exquisite  finish,  but 
a  want  of  power,  degenerating  at  times  into  cold- 
ness and  feebleness;  his  JNIadonnas  are  distinguished 
by  regular  feminine  beauty,  melancholy,  devotion 
or  resigned  sweetness :  he  excelled  in  the  Mater 
Dolorosa.  The  most  beautiful  of  his  Virgins  is  in 
the  PItti  Palace,  of  which  picture  there  is  a  dupli- 
cate in  the  Borghese  Palace  at  Rome. 

Carlo  Maratti,  without  distinguished  merit  of  any 
kind — unless  it  was  a  distinguished  merit  to  be  the 


810  FLORENCE. 

father  of  Faustina  Zappi, — owed  liis  fortuae,  lus 
title  of  Cavaliere,  and  the  celebrity  he  once  enjoyed, 
not  to  any  superiority  of  genius,  but  to  his  success- 
ful arts  as  a  courtier,  and  his  assiduous  flattery  of 
the  great.  Wliat  can  be  more  characteristic  of  the 
man,  than  his  simpering  Virgins,  fluttering  in  taste- 
less, many-colored  draperies,  with  their  sky  blue 
backgrounds,  and  golden  clouds  ? 

Caravaggio  was  a  gloomy  misanthrope  and  a 
profligate  ruffian :  we  read,  that  he  was  banished 
from  Rome,  for  a  murder  committed  in  a  drunken 
brawl ;  and  that  he  died  at  last  of  debauchery  and 
want.  Caravaggio  was  perfect  in  his  gamblers, 
robbers,  and  martyrdoms,  and  should  never  have 
meddled  with  Saints  and  Madonnas.  In  his  famous 
Pieta  in  the  Vatican,  the  Virgin  is  an  old  beggar- 
woman,  the  two  Maries  are  fish-wives,  in  "  maudlin 
sorrow,"  and  St.  Peter,  and  St.  John,  a  couple  of 
bravoes,  burying  a  murdered  traveller  :  dipiuse 
ferocemente  sempre,  pei-cke  feroce  era  il  suo  carral- 
tere,  says  his  biographer:  an  observation  by  the 
way  in  supj)ort  of  my  hypothesis. 

Rubens,  with  all  lils  transcendent  genius,  had  a 
coarse  Imagination ;  he  bore  the  character  of  an 
honest,  liberal,  but  not  very  refined  man.  Rubena 
painted  Virgins — would  he  had  let  them  alone!  fat, 
comfortable  farmers'  wives,  nursing  their  chubby 
children.  Then  follows  Vandyke  in  the  opposite 
extreme.  Vandyke  was  celebrated  in  his  day,  for 
his  personal  accomphshments  :  he  was,  say  his  biog- 


FLORENCE.  311 

raphers,  a  complete  scholar,  courtier,  and  gentle- 
man. His  beautiful  Madonnas  are  accordingly, 
what  we  might  expect — rather  too  intellectual  and 
lady-like :  they  all  look  as  if  they  had  been  polished 
by  education. 

The  grand  austere  genius  of  Michel  Angelo  was 
little  calculated  to  portray  the  dove-like  meekness 
of  the  Verglne  dolce  e  pia,  or  the  playfulness  of 
infantine  beauty.  In  his  Mater  Amabilis,  sweet- 
ness and  beauty  are  sacrificed  to  expression ;  and 
dignity  is  exaggerated  into  masculine  energy.  In 
the  Mater  Dolorosa,  suffering  is  tormented  into 
agony :  the  anguish  is  too  human :  it  is  not  suffi- 
ciently softened  by  resignation ;  and  makes  us  turn 
away  with  a  too  painful  sympathy.  Such  is  the 
admirable  head  in  the  Palazzo  Litti  at  Milan  ;  such 
his  sublime  Pieta  in  the  Vatican — but  the  last, 
being  in  marble,  is  not  quite  a  case  in  point. 

I  will  mention  but  two  more  painters  of  whose 
lives  and  characters  I  know  nothing  yet,  and  may 
therefore  fairly  toake  their  works  a  test  of  both, 
and  judge  of  them  in  their  Madonnas,  and  after- 
wards measure  my  own  penetration  and  the  truth 
of  my  hj'pothesis,  by  a  reference  to  the  biographi- 
cal writers. 

In  the  few  pictures  I  have  seen  of  Carlo  Cig- 
nani,  I  have  been  struck  by  the  predominance  of 
mind  and  feeling  over  mere  external  form :  there 
is  a  picture  of  his  in  the  Rospigliosi  Palace-^or 
rather,  to  give  an  example  which  is  nearer  at  hand. 


812  FLOKEXCE. 

and  fresh  in  my  memory,  there  is  in  the  gallery 
here,  his  Madonna  del  Rosario.  It  represents  a 
beautiful  young  woman,  e^Hdently  of  plebeian  race : 
the  form  of  the  face  is  round,  the  features  have 
nothing  of  the  beau-ideal,  and  the  "whole  head 
wants  dignity :  yet  has  the  painter  contrived  to 
throw  into  this  lovely  picture  an  inimitable  expres- 
sion which  depends  on  nothing  external,  which  in 
the  living  prototype  we  should  term  countenance ; 
as  if  a  chastened  consciousness  of  her  high  destiny 
and  exalted  character  shone  through  the  natural 
rusticity  of  her  features,  and  touched  them  with  a 
certain  grace  and  dignity,  emanating  from  the  mind 
alone,  which  only  mind  could  give,  and  mind  per- 
ceive. I  have  seen  within  the  last  i^yj  days,  three 
copies  of  this  picture,  in  aU  of  them  the  charming 
simplicity  and  rusticity,  but  in  none  the  exquisite 
expression  of  the  original :  even  the  hands  are  ex- 
pressive, without  any  particular  delicacy  or  beauty 
of  form.  An  artist  who  was  copying  the  picture 
to-day  while  I  looked  at  it,  remarked  this;  and 
confessed  he  had  made  several  unsuccessful  at 
tempts  to  render  the  fond  pressure  of  the  fingers 
as  she  clasps  the  child  to  her  bosom. 

Were  I  to  judge  of  Carlo  Clgnani  by  liis  works, 
I  should  pronounce  him  a  man  of  elevated  charac- 
ter, noble  by  instinct,  if  not  by  descent,  but  simple 
in  his  habits,  and  a  despiser  of  outward  show  and 
ostentation. 

The  other  painter  I  alluded  to,  is  Sasso  Ferrato, 


FLORENCE.  3tS 

a  great  and  admired  manufacturer  of  Virgins,  but 
a  mere  copyist,  without  pathos,  power,  or  origin- 
ality :  sometimes  he  resembles  Guido,  sometimes 
Carlo  Dolce  ;  but  the  graceful  harmonious  delicacy 
of  the  fonner,  becomes  coldness  and  flatness  in  his 
hands,  and  the  refinement  and  sweetness  of  the 
latter,  sink  into  feebleness  and  insipidity.  Were  I 
to  judge  of  his  character  by  his  Madonnas,  I  should 
suppose  that  Sasso  Ferrato  had  neither  original 
genius  nor  powerful  intellect,  nor  warmth  of  heart, 
nor  vivacity  of  temper ;  that  he  was,  in  short,  a 
mere  mild,  inoifensive,  good  sort  of  man,  studious 
and  industrious  in  his  art,  not  without  a  feeling  for 
the  excellence  he  wanted  power  to  attain.* 

I  might  pursue  this  subject  further,  but  my  mem- 
ory fails,  my  head  aches,  and  my  pen  is  tired  for 
to-night. 

***** 

Both  here  and  at  Rome,  I  have  found  consider- 
able amusement  in  looking  over  the  artists  who  are 
usually  employed  in  copying  or  studying  from  the 
celebrated  pictures  in  the  diiferent  galleries;  but  I 
have  been  taught  discretion  on  such  occasions  by  a 
ridiculous  incident  which  occt^rred  the  other  day, 
as  absui'dly  comic  as  it  was  unlucky  and  vexatious. 
A  friend  of  mine  observing  an  artist  at  work  in  the 
Pitti  Palace,  whom,  by  his  total  silence  and  inatr 

*  Forsyth  complains  of  some  celebrated  Madonnas  being  unim- 
passioned :  with  submission  to  Forsyth's  taste  and  acumeu— 
'Ugh'  they  to  be  mipassiontd  ? 


314  FLORENCE. 

tention  to  all  around,  she  supposed  to  be  a  native 
Italian  who  did  not  understand  a  word  of  Enghsh, 
•went  up  to  him,  and  peeping  over  his  shoulder,  ex- 
claimed with  more  truth  than  discretion,  "  Ah ! 
what  a  hideous  attempt !  that  wUl  never  be  like, 
I'm  sure ! "  "I  am  very  sorry  you  think  so, 
ma'am  ! "  replied  the  painter,  coolly  looking  up  in 
her  face.  He  must  have  read  in  that  beautiful  face 
an  expression  which  deeply  avenged  the  cause  of 
his  affronted  picture. 

We  have  been  twice  to  the  opera  since  we  ar 
rived  here.  At  the  Pergola,  Bassi,  though  <i 
woman,  is  the  Primo  Uomo ;  the  rare  quality  of 
her  voice,  which  is  a  kind  of  rich  deep  mezzoso- 
prano,  unfitting  her  for  female  parts.  Her  voice 
and  science  are  so  admirable,  that  it  would  be  deli- 
cious to  hear  her  blindfold ;  but  her  large  clumsy 
figure  disguised,  or  rather  exposed  in  masculine 
attire,  is  quite  revolting. 

At  the  Cocomero,  we  had  the  "  Italiana  in  Al- 
gieri : "  the  Prima  Donna,  who  is  an  admired 
singer^  gave  the  comic  airs  with  great  power  and 
effect,  but  her  bold  execution  and  her  ungraceful, 
unliquid  voice  disgusted  me,  and  I  came  away 
fatigued  and  dissatisfied.  The  dancing  is  execra- 
ble at  both  theatres. 

From  one  end  of  Italy  to  the  other,  nothing  is 
listened  fo  in  the  way  of  music  but  Rossini  and  his 
imitators.  The  man  must  have  a  transcendent 
genius,  who  can  lead  and  pervert  the  taste  of  his 


FLOREXCE.  315 

age  as  Rossiui  has  done ;  but  unfortunately  those 
who  have  not  his  talent,  who  cannot  reach  his 
beauties  nor  emulate  his  airy  brilliance  of  imagina- 
tion, think  to  imitate  his  ornamented  style  b^ 
merely  crowding  note  upon  note,  semi-quavers, 
demi-semi-quavers,  and  semi-demi-semi-quavers  in 
most  perplexed  succession  ;  and  thus  all  Italy  and 
thence  all  Europe,  is  deluged  with  this  busy,  fussy, 
hurry-skurry  music,  which  means  nothing,  and 
leaves  no  trace  behind  it  either  on  the  fancy  or  the 
memory.  Must  it  be  ever  thus  ?  are  Paesiello  and 
Pergolesi  and  Cimarosa — and  those  divine  German 
masters,  who  formed  themselves  on  the  Itahan 
school  and  surpassed  it — Winter  and  Mozart*  and 
Gluck — are  they  eternally  banished  ?  must  sense 
and  feeUng  be  forever  sacrificed  to  mere  sound 
the  human  organ  degraded  into  a  mere  instru 
ment,-f-  and  the  ear  tickled  with  novelty  and  mere- 
tricious ornament,  till  the  taste  is  utterly  diseased  ? 
There  was  a  period   in   the  history  of  Italian 

*  Dr.  Holland  once  told  me,  that  when  travelling  in  Iceland,  he 
had  heard  one  of  Mozarfs  melodies  played  and  sung  by  an  Ice- 
landic girl,  and  that  some  months  afterwards  he  heard  the  very 
same  air  sung  to  the  guitjir  by  a  Greek  lady  at  Saloniea.  Yet  the 
eon  of  that  immortal  genius,  who  has  dispensed  delight  from  one 
extremity  of  Europe  to  the  other,  and  from  his  urn  still  rules  the 
entranced  senses  of  millions — Charles  Mozart,  is  a  joor  music 
master  at  Milan!  this  should  not  be. 

t  AVhat  Beccaria  said  in  his  day  is  most  true  of  ours,  "  on  pais 
les  musiciens  pour  emouvoir,  on  paie  les  dauseurs  de  corde  pour 
e'touner.  et  la  plus  grande  partie  des  musiciens  veulent  faire  let 
ianseui's  de  corde." 


316  LUCCA. 

literature,  when  the  great  classical  writers  were 
decried  and  neglected,  and  the  genius  of  one  man 
depraved  the  taste  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 
Marini  introduced,  or  at  least  rendered  general 
and  fashionable,  that  far-fetched  wit,  that  tinsel 
and  glittering  style,  that  luxurious  pomp  of  words, 
which  was  easily  imitated  by  talents  of  a  lower 
order :  yet  in  the  Adonis  there  are  many  redeem- 
ing passages,  some  touches  of  real  pathos,  and  some 
stanzas  of  natural  and  beautiful  description :  and 
thus  it  is  with  Rossini;  his  best  operas  contain 
some  melodies  among  the  finest  ever  composed, 
and  even  in  his  worst,  the  ear  is  every  now  and 
then  roused  and  enchanted  by  a  few  bars  of  grace- 
ful and  beautiful  melody,  to  be  in  the  next  moment 
again  bewildered  in  the  maze  of  unmeaning  notes, 
and  the  clash  of  overpowering  accompaniments. 

Lucca,  April  23. 

Lucca  disappoints  me  in  every  respect :  it  was 
once,  when  a  republic,  one  of  the  most  flourishing, 
rich,  and  populous  cities  in  Italy ;  it  is  now  con- 
signed over  to  the  Ex-queen  of  Etruria;  and  its 
fate  will  be  perhaps  the  same  as  that  of  Venice, 
Pisa,  and  Sienna,  which,  when  they  lost  their  inde- 
pendence, lost  also  their  public  spirit,  their  public 
virtue,  and  their  prosperity. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  any  thing  more  rich 
and  b(iautiful,  than  the  country  between  Florence 
and  Lucca,  though  it  can  boast  little  of  the  elevated 


sir 


picturesque,  and  is  destitute  of  poetical  associations. 
The  road  lay  through  valleys,  with  the  Apenninea 
(which  are  here  softened  down  into  gentle  sunny 
hills)  on  each  side.  Every  spot  of  ground  is  in 
the  highest  state  of  cultivation  ;  the  boundaries  be- 
tween the  small  fields  of  wheat  or  lupins,  were 
rows  of  olives  or  mulberries,  with  an  interminable 
treillage  of  vines  flung  from  tree  to  tree.  In  Eng- 
land we  should  be  obliged  to  cut  them  all  down,  for 
fear  of  depriving  the  crops  of  heat  and  sunshine, 
but  here  they  have  no  such  fears.  The  style  of 
husbandry  is  exquisitely  neat,  and  in  general  per- 
formed by  manual  labour.  The  only  plough  I  saw 
would  have  excited  the  amusement  and  amazement 
of  an  English  farmer :  I  should  think  it  Avas  exactly 
similar  to  the  ploughs  of  Virgil's  time :  it  was 
drawn  by  an  ox  and  an  ass  yoked  together,  and 
guided  by  a  woman.  The  whole  country  looked 
as  if  it  had  been  laid  out  by  skilful  gardeners,  and 
the  hills  in  many  parts  were  cut  into  terraces,  that 
not  one  available  inch  of  soil  might  be  lost.  The 
products  of  this  luxuriant  country  are  com,  silk, 
wine,  and  principally  oil ;  potteries  abound,  the 
making  of  jars  and  flasks  being  an  immense  and 
necessary  branch  of  trade. 

The  city  of  Lucca  has  an  appearance  in  itself  of 
stately  solemn  dulness,  and  bears  no  trace  of  the 
emillng  prosperity  of  the  adjacent  countrj' ;  the 
shops  are  poor  and  empty,  there  are  no  sigcs  of 
business,  and  the  streets  swarm  with  beggars.    The 


318  PISA. 

interior  of  the  Duomo  is  a  fine  specimen  of  Gothic . 
the  exterior  is  Greek,  Gothic,  and  Saracenic 
jumbled  together  in  vile  taste ;  it  contains  nothing 
\ery  interesting.  The  palace  is  like  other  palaces, 
very  fine  and  so  forth;  and  only  remarkable  for 
not  containing  one  good  picture  or  one  valuable 
work  of  art. 

Pisa,  April  25. 

Pisa  has  a  look  of  elegant  tranquillity,  which  is 
not  exactly  duh^e.^s,  and  pleases  me  particularly ; 
if  the  thought  of  its  past  independence,  the  memory 
of  its  once  proud  name  in  arts,  arms,  and  literature, 
come  across  the  mind,  it  is  not  accompanied  by 
any  painful  regret  caused  by  the  sight  of  pi-esent 
misery  and  degi'adation,  but  by  that  iihilosophic 
melancholy  with  which  we  are  used  to  contemplate 
the  mutability  of  earthly  gi-eatness. 

The  Duomo,  tl^e  Baptistry,  the  Leaning  Tower, 
and  the  Campo  Santo,  stand  altogether  in  a  fine 
open  elevated  part  of  the  city.  The  Duomc  is  a 
magnificent  edifice  in  bad  taste.  The  interior, 
with  its  noble  columns  of  oriental  granite,  is  grand, 
sombre,  and  very  striking.  As  to  the  style  of 
architecture,  it  would  be  difficult  to  determine  what 
name  to  give  it ;  it  is  not  Greek,  nor  Gothic,  nor 
Saxon,  and  exliibits  a  strange  mixture  of  Pagan 
and  Christian  ornaments,  not  very  unfrequent  in 
ItaUan  churches.  The  Leaning  Tower  should  be 
contemplated  from  the  portico  of  the  church  to 


LEGHORX.  319 

heighten  its  effect:  when  the  perpendicular  cohimn 
cuts  it  to  the  eye  like  a  plumb  line,  the  obliquitj' 
appears  really  terrific. 

The  Campo  Santo  is  an  extraordinary'  place :  it 
affects  the  mind  like  the  cloisters  of  one  of  our 
Gotliic  cathedrals  which  it  resembles  in  effect. 
Means  have  lately  been  taken  to  preserve  the 
singular  frescos  on  the  walls,  which  for  five  hundred 
years  have  been  exposed  to  the  open  air. 

I  remarked  the  tomb  of  that  elegant  fabulist 
Pignotti ;  the  last  personage  of  celebrity  buried  in 
the  Campo  Santo. 

The  university  of  Pisa  is  no  longer  what  it  was 
when  France  and  Venice  had  nearly  gone  to  war 
about  one  of  its  law  professors,  and  its  colleges 
ranked  next  to  those  of  Padua ;  it  has  declined  in 
fame,  in  riches,  and  in  discipline.  The  Botanic 
Garden  was  a  few  years  ago  the  finest  in  all 
Europe,  and  is  still  maintained  with  great  cost  and 
care;  it  contains  a  lofty  magnolia,  the  stem  of 
which  is  as  bulky  as  a  good-sized  tree ;  the  gar- 
dener told  us  rather  poetically,  that  when  in  blos- 
som it  perfumed  the  whole  city  of  Pisa. 

Leghorn,  April  26. 
So  different  from  any  thing  we  have  yet  seen  in 
Italy  !  busy  streets — gay  shops — various  costumes- - 
Greeks,  Turks,  Jews,  and  Christians,  mingled  on 
terms  of  friendly  equaUty — a  crowded  port,  and  all 
the  activity  of  prosperous  commerce. 


820  LEGHORN. 

Leghorn  is  in  every  sense  a  free  port :  all  kinds 
of  merchandise  enter  exempt  from  duty,  all  relig- 
ions are  equally  tolerated,  and  all  nations  trade 
on  an  equal  footing. 

The  Jews,  who  are  in  every  other  city  a  shunned 
and  degraded  race,  are  among  the  most  opulent 
and  respectable  inhabitants  of  Leghorn ;  their 
quarter  is  the  richest,  and,  I  may  add,  the  dirtiest 
in  the  city  ;  their  synagogue  here  is  reckoned  the 
finest  in  Europe,  and  I  was  induced  to  visit  it 
yesterday  at  the  hour  of  worship.  I  confess  I  was 
much  disappointed ;  and,  notwithstanding  my  in- 
clination to  respect  always  what  is  respectable  in 
the  eyes  of  others,  I  never  felt  so  strong  a  disposi- 
tion to  smile.  An  old  Rabbi  with  a  beard  of  ven- 
erable length,  a  pointed  bonnet,  and  a  long  white 
veil,  got  up  into  a  superb  marble  pulpit  and 
chanted  in  strange  nasal  tones,  something  which 
was  repeated  after  him  in  various  and  discordant 
voices  by  the  rest  of  the  assembly.  The  congrega- 
tion consisted  of  an  uncouth  set  of  men  and  bo}'s, 
many  of  them  from  different  parts  of  the  Levant, 
in  the  dresses  of  their  respective  countries;  there 
was  no  appearance  of  devotion,  no  solemnity ;  all 
wore  their  hats,  some  were  poring  over  ragged 
books,  some  were  talking,  some  sleeping,  or  loung- 
ing, or  smoking.  AVhile  I  stood  looking  about 
me,  without  exciting  the  smallest  attention,  I 
heard  at  every  pause  a  prodigious  chattering  and 
whispering,  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  regions 


LUCCA.  321 

above,  and  looking  up,  I  sa^  a  row  of  latticed 
and  screened  galleries,  where  the  women  were 
caged  up  like  the  monkeys  at  a  menagerie,  and 
seemed  as  noisy,  as  restless,  and  as  impatient  of 
confinement :  the  door-keeper  offered  to  introduce 
me  among  them,  but  I  was  ah-eady  tired  and  glad 
to  depart. 

***** 
We  have  visited  the  pretty  English  burial-ground, 
and  the  tomb  of  SmoUet,  which  in  the  true  English 
style  is  cut  and  scratched  all  over  with  the  names 
of  fools,  who  think  thus  to  link  their  own  insignifi- 
cance to  his  immortality.  We  have  also  seen  what- 
ever else  is  to  be  seen,  and  what  all  travellers 
describe  :  to-morrow  we  leave  Leghorn — for  myself 
without  regret :  it  is  a  place  with  which  I  have  no 
sympathies,  and  the  hot,  languid,  damp  atmos- 
phere, which  depresses  the  spirits  and  relaxes  the 
nerves,  has  made  me  suffer  ever  since  we  arrived. 


Lucca 

Had  I  never  visited  Italy,  I  think  I  should  never 
have  understood  the  word  picturesque.  In  Eng- 
land, we  apply  it  generally  to  rural  objects  or 
natural  scenery,  for  nothing  else  in  England  can 
deserve  the  epithet.  Civilization,  cleanhness,  and 
comfort,  are  excellent  things,  but  they  are  sworn 
enemies  to  the  picturesque :  they  have  banished 
it  gradually  fi'om  our  towns,  and  habitations,  into 
21 


322 


remote  countries,  and  little  nooks  and  comers, 
where  we  are  obliged  to  hunt  after  it  to  find  it ; 
but  in  Italy  the  picturesque  is  every  where,  in 
every  variety  of  form  ;  it  meets  us  at  every  turn, 
in  town  and  in  country,  at  all  times  and  seasons ; 
the  commonest  object  of  every-day  life  here  be- 
comes picturesque,  and  assumes  from  a  thousand 
causes  a  certain  character  of  poetical  interest  it 
cannot  have  elsewhere.  In  England,  when  trav- 
elling in  some  distant  county,  we  see  perhaps  a 
craggy  hill,  a  thatched  cottage,  a  mill  on  a  -vvlnding 
stream,  a  rosy  milkmaid,  or  a  smock-frocked 
laborer,  whistling  after  his  plough,  and  we  ex- 
claim "  how  picturesque  ! "  Travelling  in  Italy,  we 
see  a  piny  mountain,  a  little  dilapidated  village  on 
its  declivity,  the  ruined  temple  of  Jupiter  or  Apollo 
on  its  summit;  a  peasant  with  a  bunch  of  rosea 
hanging  from  his  hat,  and  singing  to  his  guitar,  or 
a  contadina  in  her  white  veil  and  scarlet  petticoat, 
and  we  exclaim  "  how  picturesque  ! "  but  how  dif- 
ferent !  Again — a  tidy  drill  or  a  hay-cart,  with  a 
team  of  fine  horses,  is  a  very  useful,  valuable,  civil- 
ized machine;  .but  a  grape-wagon  reeling  under 
its  load  of  purple  clusters,  and  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
oxen  in  their  clumsy,  ill-contrived  harness,  and 
bowing  their  patient  heads  to  the  earth,  is  much 
more  picturesque.  A  spinning-wheel  is  very  con- 
venient, it  must  be  allowed,  but  the  distaff  and 
spindle  are  much  more  picturesque.  A  snug  Eng- 
lish villa  %vith  its  shaven  lawn,  its  neat  shrubbery, 


323 


and  its  park,  is  a  delightful  thing—  an  Italian  villa 
is  probably  far  less  comforlable,  but  with  its  vine- 
yards, its  gardens,  its  fountains,  and  statues,  iss  fer 
more  picturesque.  A  laundry  maid  at  her  vrash- 
tub,  immersed  in  soap-suds,  is  a  vulgar  idea,  though 
our  clothes  may  be  the  better  for  it.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  group  of  v/omen  I  saw  at  Terracina, 
washing  their  Unen  in  a  bubbling  brook  as  clear  as 
crystal,  which  rushed  from  the  mountains  to  the 
sea — there  were  twenty  of  them  at  least, — grouped 
with  the  most  graceful  effect,  some  standing  up  to 
the  mid-leg  in  the  stream,  others  spreading  the 
linen  on  the  sunny  bank,  some,  flinging  back  their 
long  hair,  stood  shading  their  brows  with  their 
hands  and  gazing  on  us  as  we  passed :  it  was  a 
scene  for  a  poet,  or  a  painter,  or  a  melodrama.  An 
English  garden,  adorned  at  every  turn  with  statues 
of  the  heathen  deities,  (although  they  were  all  but 
personifications  of  the  various  attributes  of  nature,) 
would  be  ridiculous.  Setting  aside  the  injury  they 
must  sustain  from  our  damp  variable  climate,  they 
would  be  out  of  keeping  with  all  around ;  here  it  is 
altogether  different ;  the  very  air  of  Italj'  is  embued 
with  the  spirit  of  ancient  mythology ;  and  though 
"  tlic  fair  humanities  of  old  religion,"  the  Nymphs, 
the  Fauns,  the  Dryads,  be  banished  fi-om  their 
haunts,  and  live  no  longer  in  the  faith  of  reason, 
vet  still,  whithersoever  we  turn,  some  statue,  some 
temple  in  ruins,  some  fragment  of  an  altar,  some 
inscription  lialf  effaced,  some  name  half-barbarized. 


S24  LTTCCA. 

recalls  t  » tho  fancy  those  forms  of  light,  of  beauty, 
of  majesty,  which  poetry  created  to  people  scenes 
for  which  me/e  humanity  was  not  in  itself  half 
pure  enough,  fair  enough,  bright  enough. 

What  can  be  more  grand  than  a  noble  forest  of 
English  oak  ?  or  more  beautiful  than  a  grove  of 
beeches  and  elms,  clothed  in  their  rich  autumnal 
tints  ?  or  more  delicious  than  the  apple  orchard  in 
full  bloom  ?  but  it  is  true,  notwithstanding,  that 
the  olive,  and  cypress,  and  cedar,  the  orange  and 
the  citron,  the  fig  and  the  pomegranate,  the  myrtle 
and  the  vine,  convey  a  diiferent,  and  more  luxuri- 
ant feeling  to  the  mind ;  and  are  associated  with 
ideas  which  give  to  the  landscape  they  adorn  a 
character  more  dehghtfully,  more  poetically  pic- 
turesqufc. 

When,  at  Lord  Grosvenor's  or  Lord  Stafford's,  I 
have  been  seated  oj)posite  to  some  beautiful  Italian 
landscape,  a  Claude  or  a  Poussin,  with  a  hill 
crowned  with  olives,  a  ruined  temple,  p  group  of 
peasants  seated  on  a  fallen  column,  or  dancing  to 
the  pipe  and  the  guitar,  and  over  all  the  crimson 
glow  of  evening,  or  the  violet  tints  of  morning, 
I  have  exclaimed  with  others,  "  How  lovely !  how 
picturesque,  how  very  poetical ! "  No  one  thought 
of  saying  '  How  natural  !  '  because  it  is  a  style  of 
nature  with  which  we  are  totally  unacquainted  : 
and  if  some  amateurs  of  real  taste  and  feellnq 
prefer  a  rural  cattle  scene  of  Paul  Potter  or  Cuv]), 
to  all  the  grand  or  lovely  creations  of  Salvator,  or 


LUCCA.  325 

Claude,  or  Poussiu,  it  is  perhaps,  because  the 
former  are  associated  in  their  minds  with  reality 
and  familiar  nature,  while  the  latter  appear  in 
comparison  mere  inventions  of  the  painter's  fertile 
fancy,  mere  visionary  representations  of  what  may 
or  might  exist,  but  which  do  not  come  home  to  the 
memory  or  the  mind  with  the  force  of  truth  or  de- 
lighted recollection.  So  when  I  have  been  trav- 
elling in  Italy,  how  often  I  have  exclaimed,  "  How 
like  a  picture  I "  and  I  remember  once,  while  con- 
templating a  most  glorious  sunset  from  the  banks 
of  the  Arno,  I  caught  myself  saying,  "  This  is  truly 
one  of  Claude's  sunsets  !  "  Now  should  I  live  to 
see  again  one  of  my  favorite  Grosvenor  Claudes, 
I  shall  probably  exclaim,  "  How  natural !  how  like 
what  I  have  seen  so  often  on  the  Arno,  or  from  the 
Monte  Pincio ! " 

And,  in  conclusion,  let  it  be  remembered  by 
those  who  are  inclined  to  smile  (as  I  have  often 
done)  when  travellers  fresh  from  Italy  rave  almost 
in  blank  verse,  and  think  it  all  as  unmeaning  as 

"  Lutes,  laurels,  seas  of  milk,  and  ships  of  amber!  " 

— let  them  recollect  that  it  is  not  alone  the  visible 
picturesque  of  Italj'  which  thus  intoxicates ;  it  is 
not  only  her  fervid  skies,  her  sunsets,  which  envel- 
ope one-lialf  of  heaven  from  the  horizon  to  the 
zenith,  in  a  Uving  blaze  ;  nor  her  soaring  pine-clad 
"mountains ;    nor   her   azure  seas ;    nor   her  fields 


826 


"  ploughed  by  tbe  sunbeams  ;  "  nor  her  gorgeoua 
cities,  spread  out  with  all  their  domes  and  towers, 
unobscured  by  cloud  or  vapors ;- — but  it  is  some- 
thing more  than  these,  something  beyond,  and  over 
aU— 

The  gleam, 


Tlie  liglit  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land 
The  cousecration,  and  the  poet's  dream! 


Genoa,  30. 

We  arrived  here  late,  and  I  should  not  write 
now,  weary,  weak,  sick,  and  down-spirited  as  I  am, 
did  I  not  know  how  the  impressfons  of  one  day 
efface  those  of  the  former ;  and  as  I  cannot  sleep, 
it  is  better  to  scribble  than  to  think. 

As  to  describing  all  I  have  seen,  thought,  and 
felt  in  three  days,  that  were  indeed  impossible  :  I 
think  I  have  exhausted  all  my  prose  eloquence, 
and  all  allowable  raptures ;  so  that,  unless  I  ramble 
into  absolute  poetry,  I  dare  not  say  a  word  of  the 
scenery  around  Sarzana  and  Lerici.  After  spend- 
ing one  evening  at  Sarzana,  in  lingenng  through 
gi'een  lanes  and  watching  the  millions  of  fire-flies, 
sparkling  in  the  dark  shade  of  the  trees,  and  lost 
again  in  the  brilliant  moonlight — we  left  it  the 
next  morning  about  sunrise,  to  embark  in  a  felucca 
at  Lerici,  as  the  road  between  Spezia  and  Sestri 
is  n^t  yet  completed.     The  groves  and  vineyards 


3LI 


on  each  side  of  the  road  were  filled  with  nightin- 
gales, singing  in  concert  loud  enough  to  overpower 
the  sound  of  our  carriage-wheels,  and  the  whole 
scene,  as  the  sun  rose  over  it,  and  the  purple 
shadows  threw  off  and  disclosed  it  gradually  to  the 
eye,  was  so  enchanting — that  positively  I  will  say 
nothing  about  it. 

Lerici  is  a  small  fishing-town  on  the  Gulf  of 
Spezia.  Here  I  met  with  an  adventure  which, 
with  a  little  exaggeration  and  embellishment,  such 
as  no  real  story-teller  ever  spares,  would  make  an 
admirable  morceau  for  a  quarto  tourist;  but,  in 
simple  truth,  was  briefly  thus. 

While  some  of  our  party  were  at  breakfast,  and 
the  servants  and  sailors  were  embarking  the  car- 
riages and  baggage,  I  sat  down  to  sketch  the  old 
gray  fort  on  the  cUflT  above  the  town ;  but  every 
time  I  looked  up,  the  scene  was  so  inexpressibly 
gay  and  lovely,  it  was  with  difficulty  and  reluctance 
I  could  turn  my  eyes  down  to  my  paper  again  ; 
and  soon  I  gave  up  the  attempt,  and  threw  away 
both  paper  and  pencil.  It  struck  me  that  the  view 
from,  the  castle  itself  must  be  a  thousand  times 
finer  than  the  view  of  the  castle  from  below,  and 
without  loss  of  time  I  proceeded  to  explore  the 
path  leading  to  it.  With  some  fatigue  and  diffi- 
culty, and  after  losing  myself  once  or  twice,  I 
reached  the  top  of  the  rock,  and  there  a  wicket 
opened  into  a  walled  passage  cut  into  steps  to  ease 
the  ascent     I  knocked  at  the  wicket  with  three 


328 


strokes,  that  being  the  orthodox  style  of  demanding 
entrance  into  the  court  of  an  enchanted  castle, 
using  my  parasol  instead  of  a  dagger,*  and  no  one 
appearing,  I  entered,  and  in  a  few  moments 
reached  a  small  paved  terrace  in  front  of  the  for- 
tress, defended  towards  the  sea  by  a  low  parapet 
wall.  The  massy  portal  was  closed,  and  instead 
of  a  bugle-horn  hanging  at  the  gate,  I  found  only 
the  handle  and  fragments  of  an  old  birch-broom, 
which  base  utensil  I  presently  applied  to  the  pur- 
pose of  a  horn,  viz:  sounding  an  alarm,  and 
knocked  and  knocked — but  no  hoary-headed  sen 
eschal  nor  armed  warder  appeared  at  my  summons. 
After  a  moment's  hesitation,  I  gave  the  door  a 
push  with  all  my  strength :  it  yielded,  creaking  on 
its  hinges,  and  I  stepped  over  the  raised  threshold. 
I  found  myself  in  a  low  dark  vaulted  hall,  which 
appeared  at  first  to  have  no  communication  witli 
any  other  chamber :  but  on  advancing  cautiously 
to  the  end,  I  found  a  low  door  in  the  side,  which 
had  once  been  defended  by  a  strong  iron  grating, 
of  which  some  part  remained :  it  led  to  a  flight  of 
stone  stairs,  which  I  began  to  ascend  slowly,  stop- 
ping every  moment  to  listen ;  but  all  was  stUl  as 
the  grave.  On  each  side  of  this  winding  staircase 
I  peeped  into  several  chambers,  all  solitary  and 
ruinous :  more  and  more  surprised,  I  continued  to 


•  With  dagger's  hilt  upon  the  gate, 

Who  knocks  so  loud,  and  knocks  so  late? — Soott 


GENOA.  329 

aacend  till  I  put  my  head  unexpectedly  through  a 
trap-door,  and  found  myself  on  the  roof  of  the 
tower :  it  was  spacious,  defended  by  battlements, 
and  contained  the  only  signs  of  warlike  preparation 
I  had  met  with ;  videlicet,  two  cannons,  or  culverins, 
as  they  are  called,  and  a  pyramidal  heap  of  balls, 
rusted  by  the  sea  air. 

I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  cannon,  and  leaning 
on  the  battlements,  surveyed  the  scene  around, 
below  me,  with  a  feeling  of  rapture,  not  a  little 
enhanced  by  the  novelty  and  romance  of  my  situ- 
ation. I  was  alone — I  had  no  reason  to  think 
there  was  a  single  human  being  v/ithin  hearing.  I 
was  at  such  a  vast  height  above  the  town  and  the 
shore,  that  not  a  sound  reached  me,  except  an  In- 
distinct murmur  now  and  then,  borne  upwards  by 
the  breeze,  and  the  scream  of  the  sea-fowl  as  they 
wheeled  round  and  round  my  head.  I  looked 
down  giddily  upon  the  blue  sea,  all  glowing  and 
trembhng  in  the  sunshine :  and  the  scenery  around 
me  was  such  as  the  dullest  eye — the  coldest,  the 
most  unimaginative  soul,  could  not  have  contem- 
plated without  emotion.  I  sat,  I  know  not  how 
long,  abandoned  to  reveries,  sweet  and  bitter,  till 
I  was  startled  by  footsteps  close  to  me,  and  turning 
round,  I  beheld  a  figure  so  strange  and  fantastic, 
and  considering  the  time,  place,  and  circumstance, 
so  Incomprehensible  and  extraordinary,  that  I  was 
dumb  with  surprise.  It  was  a  little  spare  old  man, 
with  d  face  and  form  which  resembled  the  anatomy 


330 


of  a  baboon,  dressed  in  an  ample  nightgown  of 
flowered  silk,  which  hung  upon  him  as  if  it  had 
been  made  for  a  giant,  and  trailed  on  the  ground, 
a  yard  and  a  half  behind  him.  He  had  no  stock- 
ings, but  on  his  feet  a  pair  of  red  slippers,  turned 
up  in  front  like  those  the  Turks  wear.  His  beard 
■was  grizzled,  and  on  his  head  he  wore  one  of  the 
long  many-colored  woollen  caps  usually  worn  in 
this  country,  with  two  tassels  depending  from  it, 
which  nearly  reached  his  knees.  I  had  full  time 
to  examine  the  appearance  and  costume  of  this 
strange  apparition  as  he  stood  before  me,  bowing 
profoundly,  and  looking  as  if  fright  and  wonder 
had  deprived  him  of  speech.  As  soon  as  I  had 
recovered  from  my  first  amazement,  I  replied  to 
every  low  bow  by  as  low  a  courtesy,  and  waited 
till  it  should  please  him  to  begin  the  parley. 

At  length  he  ventured  to  ask,  in  bad  provincial 
Italian,  what  I  did  there  ? 

I  replied  that  I  was  only  admiring  the  fine  pros- 
pect. 

He  begged  to  know  "  come  dlavolo  "  I  had  got 
there  ? 

I  assured  him  I  had  not  got  there  by  any  dia- 
holical  aid,  but  had  merely  walked  through  the 
door. 

Satitl  Apostoli!  did  not  my  excellency  know 
that,  according  to  the  laws  and  regidations  of  war, 
no  one  could  enter  the  fort  without  permission  first 
obtained  of  the  governor  ? 


831 


I  apologized  politely  :  "And  where."  sai  fl  I,  "  is 
the  governor  ?  " 

"  //  Governatore  son  io  per  servirla  /"  he  replied, 
with  a  low  bow. 

You!  0  die  hel  ceffo  !  thought  I — "and  what, 
Signor  Governor,  is  the  use  of  your  fort  ?  " 

"  To  defend  the  bay  and  town  of  Lerici  from 
enemies  and  pirates." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  I  see  no  soldiers ;  where  is  the 
gan-ison  to  defend  the  fort  ?  " 

The  little  old  man  stepped  back  two  steps — 
*'  Ecco  mi !  "  he  replied,  spreading  liis  hand  on  his 
breast,  and  boAving  with  dignity. 

It  was  impossible  to  make  any  reply :  I  there- 
fore wished  the  governor  and  gai-rison  good  morn- 
ing; and  disappearing  through  my  trap-door,  1 
soon  made  my  way  down  to  the  shore,  where  1 
arrived  out  of  breath,  and  just  in  time  to  step  into 
our  felucca. 

If  there  be  a  time  when  we  most  wish  for  those 
of  whom  we  always  think,  when  we  most  love 
those  who  are  alwa}s  dearest,  it  must  be  on  such  a 
delicious  night  as  that  we  passed  at  Sarzana,  or  ou 
such  a  morning  as  tliat  we  spent  at  Lerici ;  and 
if  there  be  a  time  when  we  least  love  those  we 
always  love — least  wish  for  them,  least  think  of 
them,  it  must  be  in  such  a  moment  as  the  noontide 
of  yesterday — when  the  dead  calm  overtook  us, 
half  way  between  Lerici  and  Sestri,  and  I  sat  bo 


332  GSNOA. 

the  stern  of  our  felucca,  looking  witli  a  sort  of 
despairing  languor  over  the  smooth  purple  sea, 
which  scarcely  heaved  round  us,  while  the  flapping 
sails  drooped  useless  round  the  masts,  and  the 
rowers,  indolently  leaning  on  their  oars,  sung  in  a 
low  and  plaintive  chorus.  I  sat  hour  after  hour, 
still  and  silent,  sickening  in  the  sunshine,  dazzled 
by  its  reflection  on  the  water,  and  overcome  with 
deadly  nausea :  I  believe  nothing  on  earth  could 
have  roused  me  at  that  moment.  But  evening, 
impatiently  invoked,  came  at  last :  the  sun  set,  the 
last  gleam  of  his  "  golden  path  of  rays  "  faded  from 
the  waters ;  the  sea  assumed  the  hue  of  ink ;  the 
breeze  sprang  up,  and  our  little  vessel,  with  all  its 
white  sails  spread,  glanced  like  a  wild  swan  over 
the  waves,  leaving  behind  "  a  moon-illumined 
wake."  Two  hours  after  dark  we  reached  Sestri, 
where  we  found  miserable  accommodations;  and 
after  foraging  in  vain  for  something  to  eat  after 
our  day's  fast,  we  crept  to  bed,  all  sick,  sleepy, 
hungry,  and  tired. 

We  leave  Genoa  to-morrow :  I  can  say  but  little 
of  it,  for  I  have  been  ill,  as  usual,  almost  ever  sin(^ 
we  arrived;  and  though  my  Httle  Diary  has  be- 
come to  me  a  species  of  hobby,  I  have  lately  found 
it  fatiguing  even  to  write ;  and  the  pleasure  and 
interest  it  used  to  afford  me,  diminish  daily. 

Genoa,  though  fallen,  is  still  "  Genoa  the  proud." 
She  is  lik3  a  noble  matron,  blooming  in  years,  and 


333 


dignified  in  decay  ;  wliile  her  rival,  Venice,  altvays 
used  to  remind  me  of  a  beautiful  courtesan  repent- 
ing in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  and  minsrlinnr  the  rasped 
remnants  of  her  former  splendor  with  the  emblems 
of  present  misery,  degradation,  and  mourning. 
Pursue  the  train  of  similitude, — Florence  may  be 
likened  to  a  blooming  bride  dressed  out  to  meet 
her  lover ;  Naples  to  Tasso's  Armida,  with  all  the 
allurements  of  the  Syren,  and  all  the  terrors  of 
the  Sorceress ;  Rome  sits  crowned  upon  the  grave 
of  her  power,  widowed,  indeed,  and  desolate,  but 
still,  like  the  queenly  Constance,  she  maintains  the 
majesty  of  sorrow — 

"  This  is  my  throne,  let  kings  come  bow  to  it!  " 
***** 
The  coup-d'oeil  of  Genoa,  splendid  as  it  is,  is  not 
equal  to  that  of  Naples,  even  setting  poetical  asso- 
ciations aside  :  it  is  built  like  a  crescent  round  the 
harbor,  rising  abruptly  from  the  margin  of  the 
water,  which  makes  the  view  from  the  sea  so 
beautiful :  to  the  north  the  hills  enclose  it  round 
like  an  amphitheatre.  The  adjacent  country  is 
covered  with  villas,  gardens,  vineyards,  woods,  and 
olive-groves,  forming  a  scene  most  enchanting  to 
the  eye  and  mind,  though  of  a  character  very 
different  from  the  savage  luxuriance  of  the  south 
of  Italy. 

The  view  of  the  city  from  any  of  the  heights 
around,  more  particularly  from  that  part  of  the 


834 


shore  called  the  Ponente,  where  we  were  to-day, 
is  grand  beyond  description :  on  every  side  the 
church  of  Carignano  is  a  beautiful  and  striking 
object. 

There  is  but  one  street,  properly  so  called,  in 
Genoa — the  Strada  Nuova;  the  others  are  little 
paved  alloys,  most  of  them  impassable  to  carriages, 
both  from  their  narrowness  and  the  irregularity  of 
the  gi'ound  on  which  the  city  is  built. 

The  Strada  Nuova  is  formed  of  a  double  line  of 
magnificent  palaces,  among  which  the  Doria  Palace 
is  conspicuous.  The  architecture  is  in  general 
fine ;  and  when  not  good  is  at  least  pleasing :  the 
fronts  of  the  houses  are  in  general  gayly  painted 
and  stuccoed.  The  best  apartments  are  usually 
at  the  top ;  and  the  roofs  often  laid  out  in  terraces, 
or  paved  with  marble  and  adorned  with  flowerg 
and  shrubs. 

I  have  seen  few  good  pictures  here :  the  best 
collections  are  those  in  the  Brignolet  and  Durazzo 
palaces.  lu  the  latter  are  some  striking  pictures 
by  Spagnoletto,  (or  Ribera,  as  he  is  called  here.) 
In  the  Brignolet,  the  Roman  Daughter,  by  Guido, 
struck  me  most.  I  was  also  pleased  by  some  fine 
pictures  of  the  Genoese  painter  Piola,  who  is  little 
known  beyond  Genoa. 

The  church  of  the  Carignano,  wliich  is  a  minia- 
ture model  of  St.  Peter's,  contains  Puget's  admirable 
s/-atue  of  St.  Sebastian,  which  Napoleon  intended 
to  have  conveyed  to  Paris. 


GENOA.  335 


Beauty  is  no  rarity  in  Genoa  :  I  tliink  I  never 
saw  so  many  fine  women  in  one  place,  though  1 
have  seen  finer  faces  at  Rome  and  Naples  than 
any  I  see  here.  The  mezzaro,  a  veil  or  shawl 
thro-iT/j  over  the  head  and  round  the  shoulders,  is 
universal,  and  Is  certainly  the  most  natural  and 
becoming  dress  which  can  be  worn  by  our  sex : 
the  materials  differ  in  fineness,  from  the  most 
exquisite  lace  and  the  most  expensive  embroidery 
to  a  piece  of  chintz  or  linen,  but  the  effect  is  the 
same.  This  costume,  which  prevails  more  or  less 
through  all  Italy,  but  here  is  general,  gives  some- 
thliig  of  beauty  to  the  plainest  face,  and  something 
of  elegance  to  the  most  vulgar  figure ;  it  can  make 
deformity  itself  look  passable ;  and  when  worn  by 
a  really  graceful  and  beautiful  female,  the  effect  Is 
peculiarly  picturesque  and  bewitching 

It  was  a  Festa  to-day ;  and  we  drove  slowly 
along  the  Ponente  after  dinner.  Nothing  coidd 
be  more  gay  than  the  streets  and  public  walks, 
crowded  with  holiday  people  :  the  women  were  la 
proportion  as  six  to  one,  and  looked  like  groups 
dressed  to  figure  In  a  melodrame  or  ballet. 
***** 

When  once  we  have  left  Genoa  behind  us,  and 
have  taken  our  last  look  of  the  blue  Mediterranean, 
I  shall  Indeed  feel  that  we  have  quitted  Italy. 
Piedmont  is  not  Italy.  Cities  which  are  only 
famous  for  their  sieges  and  fortifications,  plains, 


S36 


only  celebrated  as  fields  of  battle  and  scenes  of 
blood,  have  neither  charms  nor  Interest  for  me. 

On  Monday  we  set  ofi"  for  Turin :  how  I  dread 
travelling !  and  the  motion  of  the  carriage,  which 
has  now  become  so  painful !  Yet  a  little,  a  very 
little  longer,  and  it  will  all  be  over. 


FAREWELL   TO    ITALY. 

Mira  il  ciel  comM  bello,  e  mira  il  sole, 
Ch'a  se  par  che  n'inyiti,  e  ne  console. 

Farewell  to  the  Land  of  the  South ! 

Farewell  to  the  lovely  clime, 
Where  the  sunuy  valleys  smile  in  light, 

And  the  piny  mountains  climb ! 
Farewell  to  her  bright  blue  seas ! 
Farewell  to  her  fervid  skies ! 

0  many  and  deep  are  the  thoughts  which  crowd 
On  the  sinking  heart,  while  it  sighs, 

"  Farewell  to  the  Land  of  the  South !  " 

As  the  look  of  a  face  beloved. 

Was  that  bright  land  to  me! 
It  enchanted  my  sense,  it  sank  on  my  heart 

Like  music's  witchery! 
In  every  kindling  pulse 

1  felt  the  genial  air, 

For  life  is  life  in  that  sunny  clime — 
'Tis  death  of  life  elsewhere: 
Farewell  to  the  Land  of  the  South  I 


TURIN.  33  7 

The  puet's  splendid  dreams 

Have  hallowed  each  grove  and  hill, 
And  the  beautiful  forms  of  ancient  Faith 

Are  lingering  round  us  stUl. 
And  the  spirits  of  other  days, 
Invoked  by  fancy's  spell, 
Are  rolled  before  the  kindling  thought, 

AVTiile  we  breathe  our  last  farewell 

To  the  glorious  Land  of  the  South ! 

A  long — a  last  adieu. 

Romantic  Italy! 
Thou  land  of  beauty,  and  love,  and  song. 

As  once  of  the  brave  and  free  1 
Alas !  for  thy  golden  fields ! 
Alas !  for  thy  classic  shore ! 
Alas !  for  thy  orange  and  myrtle  bowers ! 

1  shall  never  behold  them  more — 

Farewell  to  the  Land  of  the  South! 

Turin,  May  10th. 

We  arrived  here  yesterday,  after  a  journey  to 
me  most  trying  and  painful :  I  tliought  at  Novi, 
and  afterwards  at  Asti,  that  I  should  have  been 
obliged  to  give  up  and  confess  my  inability  to 
proceed ;  but  we  know  not  what  we  can  bear  tiH 
we  prove  ourselves ;  I  can  live  and  suffer  still. 
*  *  *  *  * 

I  agree  with  S  *  *,  who  has  just  left  me,  that 
nothing  can  be  more  animating  and  improving 
than  the  conversation  of  intelligent  and  clever 
men,  and  that  lady-society  is  in  general  very  fade 
and  tiresome :  and  yet  I  truly  believe  that  no 
22 


338 


woman  caa  devote  herself  exclusively  to  the  so- 
ciety of  men  without  losing  some  of  the  best  and 
sweetest  characteristics  of  her  sex.  The  conver- 
sation of  men  of  the  world  and  men  of  gallantry 
gives  insensibly  a  taint  to  the  mind ;  tlie  unceas- 
ing language  of  adulation  and  admiration  intoxi- 
cates the  head  and  perverts  the  heart ;  the  habit 
of  tele-a-letes,  the  habit  of  being  always  either  the 
sole  or  principal  object  of  attention,  of  mingling  In 
no  conversation  which  is  not  personal,  narrows  the 
disposition,  weakens  the  mind,  and  renders  it  in- 
capable of  rising  to  general  views  or  principles ; 
while  it  so  excites  the  senses  and  the  imagination, 
that  every  thing  else  becomes  in  comparison  stale, 
flat,  and  unprofitable.  The  life  of  a  coquette  is 
very  like  that  of  a  drunkard  or  an  opiimi-eater, 
and  its  end  is  the  same — the  utter  extinction  of 
intellect,  of  cheerfulness,  of  generous  feeling,  and 
of  self-respect. 

***** 

St.  Michel,  Monday. — I  know  not  why  I  open 
mj-  book,  or  why  I  should  keep  account  of  times 
and  places.  I  saw  nothing  of  Turin  but  what  I 
beheld  from  my  window :  and  as  soon  as  I  could 
travel  we  set  off,  crossed  Mount  Cenis  in  a  storm, 
slept  at  Lans-Ie-bourg,  and  reached  this  place  yes- 
terday, where  I  am  again  ill,  and  worse — worse 
than  ever. 

Is  It  not  strange  that  while  life  Is  thus  rapidly 
wasting,  I  should  still  be  so  strong  to  suffer  ?     The 


LYONS.  339 

pang,  the  agony,  is  not  less  acute  at  this  moment 
than  when,  fifteeji  months  ago,  the  poniard  was 
driven  to  my  heart.  The  cup,  though  I  have 
nearly  drained  it  to  the  last,  is  not  less  bit<^er  now 
than  when  first  presented  to  my  lips.  But  this  is 
not  well ;  why  indeed  should  I  repine  ?  mine  was 
but  a  common  fate — like  a  true  woman,  I  did  but 
stake  my  all  of  happiness  upon  one  cast — and  lost  I 
***** 

Li'ons,  19th. 

Good  God !  for"  what  purpose  do  we  feel !  why, 
within  our  limited  sphere  of  action,  our  short  and 
imperfect  existence,  have  we  such  boundless  capac- 
ity for  enjoying  and  suffering  ?  no  doubt  for  some 
good  purpose.  But  I  cannot  think  as  I  used  to 
think :  my  Ideas  are  perplexed :  it  is  all  pain  of 
heart  and  confusion  of  mind ;  a  sense  of  bitterness, 
and  wrong,  and  sorrow,  which  I  cannot  express, 
nor  yet  quite  suppress.  If  the  cloud  would  but 
clear  away,  that  I  might  feel  and  see  to  do  what  is 
right !  but  all  is  dark,  and  heavy,  and  vacant ;  my 
mind  is  dull,  and  my  eyes  are  dim,  and  I  am  scarce 
conscious  of  any  thing  around  me. 

A  few  days  passed  here  in  quiet,  and  'kind  Dr. 
P  *  *,  have  revived  me  a  little. 

All  the  way  from  Turin  I  have  slept  almost  con- 
stantly; if  that  can  be  called  sleep,  which  was 
rather  the  stupor  of  exhaustion,  and  left  me  still 
sensible  of  what  was  passing  round  me.  I  heard 
voices,  though  I  knew  not  what  they  said ;  and  1 


840  LYONS. 

felt  myself  moved  from  place  to  place,  though  1 
neither  knew  nor  cared  whither. 

#  *  *  *  * 

All  that  I  have  seen  and  heard,  all  that  I  have 
felt  and  suffered,  since  I  left  Italy,  recalls  to  my 
irind  that  deUghtful  country.  I  should  regret 
■what  I  have  left  behind,  had  I  not  outlived  all 
regrets — but  one — for  there,  although 

I  vainly  sought  from  outward  forms  to  win 

The  passion  and  the  life  whose  fountains  are  within ; 
all  feeling  was  not  yet  worn  out  of  my  heart :  I 
was  not  then  blinded  nor  stupefied  by  sorrow  and 
weakness  as  I  have  been  since. 

There  are  some  places  we  remember  with  pleas- 
ure, because  we  have  been  happy  there ;  others, 
because  endeared  to  us  as  the  residence  of  friends. 
We  love  our  country  because  it  is  our  country; 
our  home  because  it  is  home :  London  or  Paris  we 
may  prefer,  as  comprehending  in  themselves  all 
the  intellectual  pleasures  and  luxuries  of  life  : 
but,  dear  Italy : — we  love  It  simply  for  its  own 
sake  :  not  as  in  general  we  are  attached  to  places 
and  things,  but  as  we  love  a  friend,  and  the  face 
of  a  friend  ;  there  it  was  luxury  only  to  he,  to  exist — 
there  I  would  willingly  have  died,  if  so  it  might 
have  pleased  God. 

Till  this  evening  we  have  not  seen  a  gleam  of 
sunshine,  nor  a  glimpse  of  the  blue  sky  since  we 
crossed  Mount  Cenis.  We  entered  Lyons  during 
a   small    drizzling   reiin.      The   dirty   street*,  the 


CONCLUSION^.  341 

black  gloomy-looking  house,  the  smoking  manu- 
factories, and  busy  looks  of  the  people  made  me 
think  of  Florence  and  Genoa,  and  their  "  fair  white 
waJls  "  and  princely  domes,  with  regret ;  and  when 
in  the  evening  I  heai'd  the  whining  organ  which 
some  wretched  Savoyard  was  grinding  near  us,  I 
remembered  even  "svith  emotion  the  delightful  voices 
I  heard  singing  "  Di  piacer  mi  balza  il  cor,"  under 
my  balcony  at  Turin — my  last  recollection  of  Italy : 
and  to-night,  when  they  opened  the  window  to 
give  me  air,  I  felt,  on  recovering,  the  cold  chill  of 
the  night-breeze ;  and  as  I  shivered  and  shrunk 
away  from  it,  I  remembered  the  delicious  and 
genial  softness  of  our  ItaUan  evenings — 

***** 

22. — No  letters  from  England. 

Now  that  it  is  past,  I  may  confess,  that  till  now, 
a  faint — a  very  faint  hope  did  cHng  to  my  heart. 
I  thought  it  might  have  been  just  possible ;  but  it 
is  over  now — all  is  over  ! 

We  leave  Lyons  on  Tuesday,  and  travel  by  short 
easy  stages;  and  they  think  I  may  stUl  reach  Paris. 
I  wiU  hold  up — if  possible. 

Yet  if  they  would  but  lay  me  down  on  the  road- 
side, and  leave  me  to  die  in  quietness !  to  rest  is  all 
I  ask. 

24. — St.  Albin.     "We  arrived  here  yesterday — 

The  few  sentences  which  follow  are  not  legible. 

Four  days  after  the  date  of  the  last  paragraph,  the  writer  died 
at  Auton  in  her  twenty-sixth  year,  and  was  buried  in  the  garden 
ot  t&e  Capuchin  Monastery,  near  that  city. — Editor. 


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